Ferris
by Jonn Wood
Summary: A geek ends up in the XCOM universe. Good News: He's just the Chief Engineer's personal assistant. Bad News: The Chief Engineer is Tony Stark.
1. 01 He's Gotta be Larger than Life

**01 He's gotta be larger than life  
**

* * *

Eamon woke up, and looked down.

_Great. He put me in a woman's body this time._

_Also, a helicopter._

He and the dark-haired older man in the seat next to him were the only ones in the compartment, facing aft.

Of course, "older" could be a relative term, until he could find a mirror. From what he could see, he wasn't exactly in a ballet dancer's body. Nope, it was decidedly...feminine. And he was black. Or Indian. Or Native American. Maybe the world he was in this time didn't even have races as he knew them.

His companion tapped him on the shoulder. "Irene, we're five minutes out," he said, in what seemed like a faint New York accent. "You never gave me your last name."

_Starkos._

"Starkos."

The other man seemed to find that amusing. "Weird. Think they put us both on this flight on purpose?"

Eamon blinked.

"Never mind."

The Traveller studied his new friend closely. Obviously fit, neatly trimmed beard, wearing an expensive bomber jacket. No visible briefcase or tablet. But then again, Irene didn't have one either.

Outside the window was an increasingly urbanized area, with a river running through it.

"_Sprechen sie deutsch?_" said the stranger.

Irene smiled. "A little."

Upon landing on a helipad, the two people disembarked, and were met by several stern looking _Bundeswehr_, and two soldiers in body armor with no insignia on it. "Sir?" one called.

Irene's companion raised a hand casually. "Yo."

The soldier offered her hand. "It's a great honor to meet you, sir."

The bearded man met her with a politican's gladhanding. She didn't seem to notice.

"If you and your assistant will follow us, Mr. Stark?"

Stark blinked. "Yep. My assistant."

Wait.

Wait a second.

From this angle, she could just see the pale blue glow of the Arc Reactor in his chest.

Oddly enough, Eamon's first thought was that Tony Stark didn't look a _thing_ like Robert Downey Jr.

The soldier added. "Oh, and welcome to X-COM."

* * *

"Mind if I ride shotgun?" Stark said, with a winning smile.

The woman blushed, looked back at her partner, who merely quirked an amused eyebrow. "Uh, sure."

"An SUV?" Eamon asked. "Kinda conspicuous."

"Well," drawled the male soldier, with what sounded like a Northern English accent. "I doubt we'd all fit in a Smart car."

Eamon liked him already.

Stark took the front passenger seat of the SUV, and the Brit sat next to Irene. They pulled out of the parking garage, and she stared out of the mirrored windows as they entered the street. They didn't look much different from folks in a normal American city, down to the guy in shades glancing at their car and playing with his phone.

So, what did Eamon know about X-COM? A video game franchise that had recently gotten a relaunch that a lot of people liked. It involved a top secret project dedicated to fighting an alien invasion, and a whole lot of disposable rookies. His Benefactor clearly hadn't seen fit to give him much more information about the games, though Irene clearly knew a lot more about Engineering than most. And he had seen _Avengers_ before he Left.

Thing was, the Tony Stark in the seat in front of him could be from any point in the films' timeline. The divergence point could be any time after Stark got his arc reactor. Or even before, if the Benefactor had rejiggered the timeline.

They turned into a more residential area. Light industry.

For all he knew, he was in the offscreen opening to a Tony Stark/X-COM/aliens slashfi-

Something flared in a window.

"_Rocket!_"

It impacted short of the front tires, popping them. The car slammed down on the rims, and everyone's head was jerked forward as it came to a halt.

There were a few moments of silence. The engine ticked over.

"Everyone okay?" said the female soldier.

Stark was breathing heavily, staring at the cracked windshield.

"Stark?" The woman slapped him lightly. "Talk to me."

"I-" He cleared his throat. "I- I-"

"He's in shock." The woman frowned.

"We need to call for backup," said the man. "Also, I _told_ you we should bring the tank."

She smiled at him, an instant before red beams speared through the side panel and into his body. The heat cooked the air and fluids inside, causing bubbles to rapidly grow. His left eye popped, and Eamon flinched.

There was a horrible smell of boiled meat.

The female soldier swore. "We need to move. Can you shoot?"

"His weapon's wrecked," Eamon said calmly, surprised at the part of his mind that cut in automatically at times like this.

"There's an SMG under Stark's seat."

The scientist slid the case out, flipped it open. _A Super-V. Very nice. Very expensive. Thank you, Council._ She glanced to her right, at the blank, industrial wall. "Both the rocket and lasers came from the left."

"Yeah, they're probably hiding in one of those houses. Clear rear."

Eamon twisted in her seat. "Clear. I saw a flash, but I don't remember which house it was in."

"Take the gun, and get out. Cover the rear." She yanked what looked like an Epi-Pen from a pouch, and stabbed Stark in the neck. He yelped. Whatever was in there, it was enough to knock someone out of shock. Good to know.

Eamon scrambled out of the door, reached back in for the gun, and felt the beam pass through the place his head had been a second earlier. It had also put a hole in the roof of the car.

"Lasers," someone gasped, right next to her. "Never liked them."

Eamon jumped, and nearly elbowed Stark in the face.

"Don't _do_ that!"

"Why haven't they rocketed us again?"

"Generally, one does the job. Maybe they traveled light."

"This is not a good situation," said the soldier, as she climbed out of the car. "It's only a matter of time before they get the bright idea to aim for the fuel tank, which will either kill us or flush us. And _then_ they'll kill us."

"What's your name?"

"Laura Byler, sir."

"Laura, when is backup going to get here?"

"Five minutes."

"We don't _have_ five minutes."

"That house."

Stark and Byler looked at Irene. "What?"

"They're in _that_ house." She pointed. "Looked at the hole in the room and the mark on the ground. Sniper on the second story. Your rifle still working?"

"Yeah, but - _no_."

"You suppress him, I'll charge."

"You're not a trained soldier. _No_."

"Which is why the _trained soldier_ should guard the VIP."

Another hole punched through the car, and everyone ducked.

"We don't have time for this," Irene growled, and took off for the row of houses. Behind her, Byler swore, and started firing.

The scientist reached an oblique angle to the nearest house, too close for the sniper to hit without exposing themselves, and started running forward. He vaulted over one wall, two, then arrived at the sniper's house just as a figure stepped out of the front door.

Oddly enough, Eamon noted, just before he shoulder-checked them, they seemed to be wearing pinstripes.

The assailant was knocked a few feet, towards the wall. Before they could bring their pistol up, Eamon smashed their wrist between her left knee and the wall, making them drop the gun, then backed off.

"_Stoppen_!" he barked. Was that even the right word in German? Well, someone pointing a gun at you was pretty unmistakable.

The man glared at her with hate in his eyes, and reached for something on his belt. Looked like an Epi-Pen. Irene's eyes widened. "_Wait!_"

The stranger jammed the syringe into his neck, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Foam began to bubble from his lips, and his limbs convulsed -

Eamon looked away.

Who _were_ these people?

Maybe there'd be answers inside.

* * *

There were three bodies with bags on their heads, all tied up and shoved against a wall, and a fourth with another syringe in its neck.

One of the bodies was smaller.

Irene stared at the tableau, as the house shook while something massive hovered overhead, as ropes descended past the window, as booted feet ran up the stairs.

"_Stoppen_!" a voice yelled.

The woman raised her head.

"It's-" she swallowed. "It's okay. I'm with you guys."

* * *

Bonnie Tyler - "I need a hero"


	2. 02 Masquerading as a Man with a Reason

**02 Masquerading as a man with a reason  
**

**-O-  
**

The Engineering lab had one of those cool sci-fi doors. The ones with big steel plates the size of a Volkswagen. Probably airtight too. Doubtless specialized parts and higher maintenance costs than a regular door. What was wrong with tho - oh, right, aliens with plasma weapons.

The security camera tracked Irene as she walked in. She gave it a facetious little wave, just to let her observers know she was okay.

Well, better.

"_The family was executed at close range, most likely with a small-calibre laser weapon, like a pistol. Surprised they didn't overpenetrate, but they may have dialable yields. Initially wondered if they were somehow executed all at once by the shotgun downstairs, but I - yes, you'd better take that back, wouldn't want to start stealing from the office the first day on the job, hahaha - but realized that would be too difficult to line up, with the smaller child. Suspect the child and parents were separated, with the assassins using each to ensure the compliance of the other. Yes, I could do with a bit of fresh air. Child may have been killed first, then killers moved into this room and executed parents at the same ti—_"

Then she had vomited all over the front hall.

At this point, someone had quite wisely tranquilized her. She'd woken up on a helicopter full of dour-faced troopers, with a case of bitter, acidic cottonmouth and a medic next to her holding some kind of biometrics monitor. And that was where she stayed until they arrived at the base.

Embarrassing, really. Or maybe not. Eamon had been through a lot of continuities, but he couldn't remember the last time he saw someone executed in cold blood.

Much less a kid.

"Don't worry about it," said the anonymous Scottish trooper who had escorted the engineers to their new workspace. "It hits everyone hard. The first time I saw a body covered in -"

The soldier's earpiece pinged.

"Right," he sighed. "Covered in something that you haven't been cleared for. Yet."

"Do you normally carry tranqs and stims on missions?"

"Useful for panic, ma'am."

"Encounter a lot of freaked-out civvies?"

A smile. "Classified. Call me if you need anything." He reached for something beside the door, and it ground shut. There was another panel on the lab side.

"_Well_," Irene murmured toward her unseen Benefactor. "_A little direction would be nice_."

She turned and found her new boss looking at a computer someone had left on a counter, all prepped and ready for him to login.

Stark stared it, then swept if off the counter.

"Ah," Irene said dryly. "I take it you're a Mac man."

Stark forced a chuckle.

"Want to talk about it?"

Stark cupped his face in his hands. "Sure," he said, muffled. "Why not."

He took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"First I get offered a choice between going home, and officially staying "dead" then going to Germany to join some top-secret alien project." He grimaced. "Aliens. Seriously."

"So why didn't you go home?"

"When...these people give you a choice, it's never really a choice. Anyway, so then I get here, get in a car, then get ambushed. Guy gets killed, and some female scientist who doesn't exactly have a combat chassis - no offense -"

"None taken."

"-Takes care of business while I hide behind a car."

Eamon thought of the smallest body again, forced a smile.

"The business mostly took care of itself. You mean someone did something suicidally stupid to protect you?"

"Yeah. Some who barely knows me." Stark rubbed his eyes wearily. "And it wouldn't be such a big deal if it weren't the second time this month."

"I read your file," Irene said slowly. "Ho Yinsen?"

"No, just Shen. Never gave me his first name. The funny thing is that if we had had a little more time, if we had just a few more seconds, he'd still be alive."

_Wait, what?_

"Wait, _what_?"

"That wasn't in the file?"

Irene shook her head.

"He went all Wrath of Khan buying me time to start up the suit, then I used the suit to get outside, then a team of guys came out of thin air and took down all the Ten Rings. Five more minutes, and they could've stormed the camp and saved him." Tony frowned, staring at nothing. "Why didn't he stick to the plan?"

"Maybe that's not it."

Tony looked at her.

"Maybe they were only successful because you drew the bad guys off, took out their leadership. Maybe if you hadn't done that, they would've held off the attackers long enough for some to run into the cave, and kill you _and_ Shen."

Tony was just staring at her. Not nodding or shaking. Just staring.

"So," Irene prodded. "I assume that's when you were taken to wherever they gave you your choice."

A tight smile. "Yep."

"And they ambushed your convoy..._That's_ why you didn't want to sit in the back."

"Yep. And it got some guy killed. I'm sick and tired of people dying for me."

Irene looked at him, head cocked, eyes narrowed. "Tony...when was the last time you had a drink?"

"Just before the Ten Rings took me."

"And sleep?"

"Does blacking out count?"

The intercom chimed. "_Stark and Starkos to the Director's office_."

"Great. Just what we needed." Tony scrubbed his face with his hand and looked around. "Now, where is it?"

He opened the lab door, to find the soldier who had escorted them about to buzz.

"Ah, good. Lead on, Macduff," Irene said.

"Mcinally, actually."

"Dear me, what are they _teaching_ you Scots these days?"

"We did _Hamlet,_" said Mcinally, and smiled to show he had gotten her reference. They began to walk.

Wait, was she flirting? Was this Eamon flirting, or Irene? How _much_ of Irene? Did he have parts of her mind? Was it her hormones? Did Mac count as being in Irene's Chain of Command? Was fraternization allowed among XCOM members at all? Was it a good idea to get into something when he might well just be passing through? And most importantly, _why was Stark smirking at her like that_?

**-/-**

For an office in a high-tech underground base, the Director's office was remarkably old-school, down to the big, steel, cold-war bomb shelter desk and the safe in the corner.

The Director, however, was not. Mostly because she a woman.

Specifically, a blond, blue-eyed, vaguely Nordic woman, with a strong jaw and broad shoulders. She was also, apparently, in her thirties or so, but Eamon, as a 20-something white Irish geek currently stuck in the body of an attractive, ambiguously brown older American woman, knew looks could be deceiving.

The director stood as Tony came in, and leaned over the desk to shake his and Irene's hands. Introductions were made; the ginger woman in the labcoat was Dr. Moira Vahlen, Research, and the guy in the commando sweater was David Bradford, Assistant Director and Operations Manager. Everyone sat down, except Bradford, who stood at the Director's shoulder.

Left shoulder, not right. He wasn't _literally_ her right-hand man.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Stark," said Director Schmidt in an American accent. "We're still in shakedown, so to speak. Ideally, we would've bought you in when we started operations, but recent events have forced our hand. The X-Rays managed to catch us wrong-footed, and we're still scrambling to catch up."

"Which is where I come in."

"_Ja_."

Vahlen piped up. "We've already collected and analyzed several items from our first few missions, and I would appreciate it if you could take a look at our results."

"Okay. So...here's a funny question; why me?"

"Believe it or not, Stark, an alcoholic playboy with self-control issues wasn't our first choice."

"And who would that be?"

"That would be Dr. Richards."

Tony blinked.

"Unfortunately, Dr. Richards has been on an extended mission in space for some time now. Dr. Shen was our second choice, but he died in the attack."

"Wait a second," Irene broke in. "You're saying Shen was your second choice compared to _Reed Richards_?"

"Well, yes. For example, he managed to save Mr. Stark from shrapnel injuries in a cave, with only rudimentary medical facilities."

"So..." Tony said slowly. "You were trying to rescue _him_, not me?"

"Our sister agency was, yes." Schmidt cocked her head. "To be perfectly frank, Stark, until we saw the armor, we had no idea you could be so...effective, when pressed."

Tony passed his hand over his face. "Well, that's...humbling."

Nobody took the straight line.

"Miss Starkos has been assigned as your personal and research assistant, and general dogsbody."

Tony opened his mouth.

"Don't," Irene said.

Tony closed his mouth.

"You'll find the tablet with the orientation booklet on the pillow in your sleeping quarters."

"What, no chocolate?"

"Sorry, I needed a midnight snack. Your escape suit was very impressive. Can you make something like that again?"

Tony blinked. "That took me three months."

A raised eyebrow. "I think we can provide _slightly_ more advanced facilities."

"You want soldiers stomping around in powered armor?"

The Director spread her hands. "Stark, we need every advantage we can get. We're fighting an intergalactic civilization here. We're still trying to figure out why they haven't just dropped a ship on Bangkok or Budapest from orbit."

"Hm. I'll need high-end fabbing and CAD facilities. I mean, really high end. We're talking robots and holograms here."

"They're already on their way. In the meantime, anticipating your next request, we've already installed a bar."

Tony grinned. "_Great_. Doctor...Vahlen, was it? What's our working relationship?"

She seemed a bit taken aback by Tony's sudden attention, but recovered swiftly and pointed at herself. "Research." And at Tony. "Development."

"_Vunderbar_," Tony said, and Vahlen flushed. "So, who were those guys who attacked us, anyway?"

The Director's face tightened, just a fraction. Eamon wasn't sure if anyone else noticed.

"I believe it's an organization called HYRDA, all-caps."

Tony's brow furrowed. "As in..."

"Yes."

"Pardon me," Vahlen said. "But who is HYDRA?"

Bradford seemed to be out of the loop too, from the look on his face.

"They're a World War II Nazi division dedicated to discovering and reverse-engineering advanced technologies, then weaponizing them and using them in world conquest," Irene recited. "What was that phrase?"

"_For every head you cut off, two will take its place,_" the Director murmured. "Their plot to bomb major world cities was shut down by Captain America, and their main base was captured. Their tech was mostly kept on mothballs, until the 60s, when-"

Bradford coughed.

"Oh, yes, clearance. The weaponry your assailants had seems to resemble the tech they had in WWI, and so does the willingness to kill themselves. I'll send the files to you for comparison, Dr. Vahlen, once you've finished with your examination. Mr. Stark is doubtless familiar with it already, since his father was on the project -"

"He was _what_?"

"Ah. You knew about HYDRA, but you didn't...I'll send you the files too."

"Were they attacking me specifically, or just XCOM's new head engineer?"

"That's still being investigated."

"Do they know where this base is?"

"As far as we can tell, no. We're still looking into how they knew what route you were taking."

"What's the cover story for this place?" Irene asked.

"High energy particle research. This facility _was_ originally built for that purpose, partially funded by the German government

. It was even hooked into the river for emergency cooling. But then the project ran out of money, and it sat empty for a few years."

"Until it was bought by our bosses."

"Until it was bought by our bosses," the Director confirmed.

"What about fraternization?" asked Tony.

Irene and Vahlen both rolled their eyes.

"The short version; is that in the direct Chain of Command, it's _verboten_. Mr. Stark can't date Miss Starkos, but he could date someone from Research, Ops, Medical, or Procurement."

"I wasn't asking for _myself_."

Irene blushed. Good job, Stark.

"Of course. I was using it entirely as a hypothetical. If that's all, you're dismissed. Mr. Stark, can I have a word with you in private? And Starkos?"

"Yes?"

The Director smiled. "Good work out there."

Irene stood a little straighter as she left.

Tony left the office a minute or two later, looking shaken.

"Are you okay?" Irene asked as they began to walk. One thing about this new body; the hips didn't work the same way. There was a certain..._strut_. Irene was decidedly strutty. Was that just the new anatomy, or was it the muscle memory?

"Uh, yeah." Stark thought for a second. "Irene, do you mind if I flirt with you?

"Yes."

"Crap. Well,uh, I had this thing going with my last assistant where I made jokes about that sort of thing. Helps my process."

"Were you actually interested in her?"

"She never really responded."

That wasn't a no, Stark. "Well, rest assured, I'm not interested in a relationship right now."

Ahead of them, Mcinally stiffened.

"A relationship with you, I mean."

The trooper relaxed. Well, _that_ was going to lead to heartbreak.

When they walked into the lab, where someone had put the ruggedized laptop back on the counter, a voice greeted them.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stark, Ms. Starkos," said a non-visible British-accented woman.

"Uh...hi. Also, _where are you_?"

"I'm the base control AI," said the speakers in the ceilings. "Joint Operations Control And Systems Technology Administrator."

"JOCASTA?" Irene asked.

"Yes, though I'm not fond of the mythological allusions. I would've preferred something like 'Alien Response, Monitoring, and Operational Response AI', but —" the eyeroll was somehow audible, which was an impressive feat of programming "—no one asked me."

"How about, uh, 'Extraterrestrial Observation and Response Director?'"

"XORD? Do I sound like a twelve-year old? Well, In actual fact, I'm less than a year old, but the point still stands."

"So you're an AI," cut in Tony.

"Yes."

"You're fully sentient."

"Yes."

"Have you ever met _my_ AI, JARVIS?"

An almost-unnoticeable pause. "Mr. Stark, I'm not allowed to have non-vital external communications."

Tony grinned at the security camera. "That's not a no, Jo."

An alarm sounded, and a light on the wall flashed yellow.

Irene blinked. "Should...should we be running?" Wait, the remake didn't have Base Defense, did it? But then again, it didn't have Tony Stark either, so this was clearly a fusion continuity.

"A mission is starting. You can watch it on this TV. By the way, there's a reward for any staff that come up with suggestions that lead to viable improvements."

"Can't miss that," Tony said, straight-faced. "I need the money."

"I think the lasers can wait a while, don't you?" Irene hinted.

"Good idea. Jo, do you do popcorn?"

"Not unless you're planning to build me a robot body, no."

"Oh. So where's that bar?"

**-X-**

**Kansas - "Wayward Son"**  
Bradford and Vahlen have their first names taken from Arad's "Stardust" XCOM/MLP crossover. Incidentally, those are also the names of their voice actors.


	3. 03 We Happy Few

**03 We Happy Few**

**-O-**

**Cologne, Germany**

"Central," said Pena. "I think we've found the recon team."

"What's left of it," muttered Mundy. The marksman shifted his weapon uneasily.

"Stow that, Foster," Bradford said. "How many of them can you see?"

"Just one, Ma'am," said Masumoto. "He's appears to be trapped under an overturned police van. Conscious, but there's something wrong with his eyes." She had flicked her flashlight at them to check dilation, to find them bulging and bloodshot, with some sort of dark discharge. He didn't even blink as he reached out to her for help. "Should I heal him?"

"Negative. Eyes open_._"

"Rog-"

"Bradford, Voodoo-One Alpha, be advised, we are picking up a signal on the _Heer_'s standard communications frequencies. It seems to be a cry for help. Triangulating...it's coming from that building from the north, on the other side of the square."

"Roger, Jocasta," said Pena. "Moving up."

**-/-**

"Dunayevsky just found another body in the bus stop," Jocasta said. "It appears to have the same discharge that the other body did. Also-"

"I would've _led_ with the giant hole in his chest," Tony said, "but that's just me."

"Doctor Vahlen has observed that he seems to have been eviscerated from the inside. He also appears to be in an advanced state of decomposition."

"Back up. Did you say he got _Chestburstered_?"

"That's only her preliminary opinion; we'll have to wait until an autopsy is cond —"

"No, don't worry, I'll just start work on a _Pulse Rifle_. Maybe a Smartgun and a Power Loader, just for the heck of it."

"Really?" Irene piped up.

Tony looked like he was about to say something sarcastic. Then he stopped himself and looked thoughtful.

**-/-**

"No contacts visible," Pena said, peering through the windows.

"No contacts visible," Masumoto said, doing the same.

"I see nothing," said Dunayevsky.

"Switching to enhanced optics," Mundy said, and flipped to the secondary scope on his rifle. He pointed his weapon through a broken pane and went very still. "Two contacts."

**-/-**

"There were four men in that recon squad," Jocasta informed them. "So these could be our lost lambs. Or one of them might've picked up a civilian. Or it might be a civilian who found the police's radio. It's best not to jump to conclusions."

"Except for the fact that the second contact seems to be a three-year old with a really bad case of encephalitis," Irene observed.

"Well spotted."

"Can your drone get a better view? Can you lower it?" Tony asked.

"No, there's too much light reflecting off the windows. The windows are also thermally opaque."

"Have you tried using sonics?"

"No one has the technology, and I'm not even sure it would work in this case."

Tony frowned. "I think there was something on this in my company's archives. Remind me to look it up later. What's that green lump on the ground?"

"A person. Those canisters emit some sort of gas that quickly condenses into an extremely tough, fibrous material. It seems to use some variant of carbon nanotubes."

"_Oooh._"

**-/-**

Pena edged the front door of the warehouse open, and Mundy scoped out the left and right sides of the warehouse.

"Two tentative contacts," he whispered. "Hiding behind the shelves, left and right. Primary contact is armed. Shotgun in one hand, and grenade."

"How is he going to pull pin if he is holding shotgun?" mused Dunayevsky. "How is he going to pump shotgun if holding grenade?"

"Quiet," whispered Masumoto. "What's the plan, Sarge?"

"That depends on how good of a shot Mundy is," Pena said.

**-/-**

"Alpha, what are you doing?" Bradford said, in a voice of glacial calm. Several of the other people in Operations, who had heard it before, cringed.

"Springing the trap, Central," replied the Argentinian.

"You do _not_ know what's in that buil—"

"Breaching."

**-/-**

The first idea the red Sectoid had that everything was going wrong was the sound of breaking glass.

On its left, the Lower turned to find itself being confronted by a Japanese woman, who casually kicked away its weapon, and then smacked it in the head with her rifle butt. Then she reached for it, and the red Sectoid winced as it Felt a limb breaking. It winced a second later as the _other_ Lower was introduced to a massive Russian foot that propelled it into a box. It slumped to the ground, and then the boot descended on it again and the Lower was cut off.

Then the flashbang went off right in front of the red Sectoid.

Mind control or no, the German involuntarily raised his hand to shield himself from the blast, and then found himself with empty hands.

"Contact disarmed," growled the Australian man.

"Contact subdued," said the Japanese woman.

The Russian just yelled as he leaped over the boxes, shoulder checking the disarmed German. He swung his LMG towards the last contact, which had decided that discretion was the better part of duty, and vanished into the shadows.

"No contacts," said Pena. "Good job, team."

**-/-**

Bradford was leaning over a table, his hands clenched into fists on it, with knuckles white. Even if he had been looking up, no one would've met his eye.

**-/-**

"Three contacts —"

"I see 'em!" Mundy barked at Jocasta, and proceeded to empty his clip. He managed to slow one of them slightly.

They looked like a cross between a scorpion, a spider, and something that wakes you up at 3AM, screaming.

"One of them seems to be inju—"

Someone fired a shotgun nearby, and Mundy jerked away in surprise at the gout of flame leaping from the barrel.

Pena could've sworn they slowed down. One of the bug-things swung wide, while the one with the injured leg tried heading in the other direction, to get out of the line of fire.

The crippled X-Ray flinched every time Pena fired. He wasn't sure how much damage it was doing, but he hoped it was e—

Its head exploded.

The Argentinian stopped, looked at his shotgun, then turned to look at the Australian behind him, who was just lowering his weapon.

"You owe me a beer," he called.

The wall of the warehouse exploded, flinging bits of dead alien into the street.

**-/-**

Dunayevsky dropped his spent RPG tube as he moved to assist Masumoto. He brought his LMG up, and aimed over the head of the new, buglike X-Ray that had ambushed her. It had come through the window, ironically. She was giving a good account of herself, judging by the noise, but those were pistol shots, not rifle, which meant she had been disarmed—

_That's right, _suka_, look at Papa_.

The new contact scurried backwards, out of the line of fire. Which, in turn, exposed it to fire from Mundy and Pena, who had rounded the corner of the shelves. The latter had switched back to his assault rifle, and they had the X-Ray in a crossfire.

"Clear!" Pena called a few seconds later, raising a clenched fist. "_Esta bien_?"

"What?" said Mundy.

"I said, everyone all right?"

"_What_?"

"Why are you yelling?" asked Dunayevsky.

"What?" said Pena.

"_Why are you yelling_?"

"Because _someone_ shot a rocket at a wall a few feet from us!"

"_What_?" said Mundy.

Aside from the ringing in their ears, they were pretty much okay.

Masumoto, not so much.

The Japanese woman just went _click-click_ as she pulled at the trigger of her empty pistol, staring at nothing, eyes wide. She didn't even seem to notice the cuts in her armor, the gashes on her arms and legs and torso.

Dunayevsky gently wrapped his arms around her from behind, and pried the gun away. With the other hand, he plucked a syringe from her belt, and applied it to her neck. She slumped forward, and he caught her and gently lowered her to the ground, as he murmured something in Russian.

"Sasha? What'd you just say to her?"

The big man cleared his throat, embarrassed. "_Sleep, little one_." He stood, with his weapon, ran a hand over his shaven head, and the three men stared at the corpse in front of them.

Mundy said it first. "What the _f-_"

**-/-**

The red Sectoid slunk through the offices at the front of the building, fuming. _How? How had the human warriors managed to reverse the ambush so effectively?_

It pushed its way through the front doors, and was promptly shot.

It fell to the ground.

Then it was shot again.

_How—?_ it thought, through the pain. Then everything went black.

"Central, Voodoo-Two Bravo. Bagged your runner," said the woman. "This is a new one. Think we'll get a bonus?"

"Hmm," said her comrade, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "One the one hand, bonus. On the other, Pena is not going to stop whining about us stealing his kill for _weeks_."

The first trooper shrugged. "Sucks to be him."

**-/-**

"And that's it. All over but the shouting. We've no more hostiles in the AO. Unless they have invisible aliens, which I _highly_ doubt."

Both engineers were silent.

Chrysalids looked a lot scarier up close. Or, more accurately, on camera. They were so _quick_—

(_their little legs were fast_)

—and they came out of _nowhere_—

"It can be a lot to take in, I know. You may be still processing it."

It was wrong, it was all _wrong_, there weren't supposed to be bugs in the tutorial mission, they weren't supposed to have 6 men in a squad, they weren't supposed to actually catch the Sectoid Commander, this was supposed to be their first mission.

A nasty little voice at the back of Eamon's head asked why he had thought XCOM wouldn't load up their Skyrangers to the max outside of gameplay reasons, why they couldn't use fastropes and misdirecton and flanking maneuvers, if he thought humans and x-rays didn't have free will. _What _were_ you expecting, Eamon? Did you think it was going to be turn based? Did you think they'd move on a _grid_?_

Irene finally thought of something to say.

"Those...those weren't standard tactics."

"Well...we've found that this isn't a war ordinary tactics can win."

"Ah. But even then..."

"Yeah, I noticed. They'll doubtless be dressed down by Bradford, maybe even the Director herself. When Dunayevsky gets asked how he even got an RPG-7 onto the base, he'll probably shrug and say that he 'knows a guy'." She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if they didn't send us their best soldiers, just the ones they wanted to get rid of."

Beat.

"Going with the chestburster theory, that means these things came out of—" Irene couldn't finish saying it.

"Yes."

"So if one came out of the soldier trapped under the van, and they're based on human bodies..."

"That would explain why it was crippled, I agree," Jocasta said thoughtfully. "We've never seen those things before. Or the red one. They're stepping up."

Tony raised his hand. "I have a question. Do you know how tall the soldiers are?"

**-/-**

Several hours later, after an exhausting attempt at keeping up with Tony Stark in full brainstorm mode, Eamon finally found her bedroom.

The door was a heavy hatch, and all-in-all, it seemed rather spartan. The only thing there was Irene's luggage, and some toiletries no doubt grudgingly supplied out of XCOM's multi-billion dollar budget. Still, it was better than a bunk and a locker.

Ah, the perks of the job.

Eamon finally got a look at herself in the bedroom mirror, after stripping to his undies.

Turned out that he was _really hot_. No wonder Mcinally's tongue had almost been hanging out of his mouth.

He turned around to get a look at Irene's backside—purely for curiousity's sake, of course—and was struck by the fact that his Benefactor made him a MILF hanging out with Tony Stark. Thank goodness the Director pre-emptively cut him off at the knees. And thanks to whoever wrote the fraternizing regs.

After a quick scrub, Eamon turned to his bed and pulled back the covers, where he found a tablet, presumably with the orientation booklet loaded, on the pillow.

Next to a chocolate.

It came in handy when he was staring at the ceiling at 3AM.

**-X-**

**Enemy Unknown Achievements, referencing _Henry V_**


	4. 04 Questions of science

It didn't take three months.

It took them two weeks.

**-O-**

**04 Questions of science, science and progress**

**-/-**

Mundy liked to watch nature documentaries, and Bradford's pacing around his office reminded him of something with good vision that flew high in the sky and hunted small furry animals. As one of the metaphorical small furry animals, he and the other two squaddies had been harried by said predator for ten solid minutes.

Felt like days.

"Sergeant, what was your thought process at..._this_ point?" Bradford's accusing finger stabbed at the display in his office. "Please, enlighten the class."

"It got the job done," Pena retorted stiffly."Now we know the _bichos_ don't like fire."

"That's not the point. Do you have any idea what sort of tactics we could've employed if we knew your second tube was loaded with Dragon's Breath?"

"Well—"

"_No_, you _don't_, because that's _my_ job!" Bradford pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't do my job if I don't know what my squad's capabilities are. And I can't do that if you go off on crazy plans that end up with one of your teammates _poisoned_ and _traumatized_ in the infirmary!"

"And with two new aliens for autopsy. Plus a plasma pistol," Dunayevsky muttered.

The Assistant Director rounded on him. "And _you_," he said. "Leaving aside the whole 'firing an RPG in the direction of your squadmates without so much as a "look out!"' thing; pop quiz. What's the standard XCOM rocket launcher?"

"Carl Gustav".

"Right you are, Sasha! Now, for all the rubles, what sort of rocket launcher did you use on the mission?"

"Ah..."

"What's that? Having trouble remembering? Well, let me refresh your memory." He picked up something from the corner of the room, and held it under Dunayevsky's nose. "Hm? _This_ ring any bells?"

Despite having not moved a muscle, the big guy was cringing. In an appropriately military fashion.

"Bzzt! Time's up, Dunayevsky!" Bradford dropped the spent rocket tube at the soldier's feet. "It is an _Arr-Pee-Gee_-Seven! Now, I can't help but wonder not only what you were doing with this weapon, but _how you got it onto this base in the first place_!"

The Russian shrugged. "I know a guy," he said, not meeting his superior's eyes.

Bradford looked at the soldier's rather obvious prison tattoos, and sighed.

Mundy made the mistake of snickering.

"Mr. Mundy?" said his CO, "care to inform the class why you went along with Mr. Pena's ill-considered plan?"

"Sir, you don't question the leader on the ground, sir!"

"You don't...question..." Bradford's mouth moved silently for a few seconds.

Then, with a gleam in his eyes, the hawk swooped in for the kill.

**-/-**

The Director _had_ to have heard her coming. It wasn't like the golf carts were quiet. But she displayed no reaction until Vahlen pulled up beside her.

"Good morning, Director."

"Good morning, Doctor."

Vahlen carefully sought the amount of throttle that would allow her to keep pace with her boss. She glanced at Schmidt's toned muscles, and felt a twinge of guilt over her own thickening thighs. Then again, Rao had mentioned that the American was the fittest person she had ever seen, and according to the troops' scuttlebutt, her physical times were some of the best on the base.

And if some of the most elite soldiers in the world were unable to beat her, why should a mere scientist?

Still, maybe she should get out of the lab more.

"Doctor?"

"Ah, yes. I must respectfully ask you to reconsider your funding for -"

"No."

Vahlen faltered.

The blonde seemed to realize that she had been overly blunt, and grimaced slightly as they passed the memorial wall. Someone had rigged up a tablet with a database on the fallen soldiers. It had already been replaced once due to a high-speed collision with the Wall.

"Doctor, you've had free run of our R&D budget up until now. Now we have a chance to get some D done, and you're begrudging Stark his slice of the pie. We can't afford to waste resources, or take soldiers off the field. And besides, can't you and your team write academic papers already? This won't be classified forever."

"We could be on the verge of the next leap in human evolution!" Vahlen sputtered.

"Then we had better tread carefully, lest it turn out to be off a cliff. Doctor, we simply don't know if your testing chamber is worth investing in."

"You've read the papers I sent to you?"

"Yes, I have. We know this 'Xavier gene' exists. What we don't know is whether it can give people psychic powers, even assuming that the abilities of the 'Sectoid Commander' can be reproduced reliably in humans."

"But Xavier himself -"

"- May have been a complete charlatan, backing up his claims with some plausible-sounding nonsense about genetics. Maybe he was a one-off. No one's been able to reproduce his results in the fifty years since he died, Moira. Not since before you were born."

"But -"

"I looked up some of the reports myself, Doctor. His 'X-Men' didn't demonstrate anything that couldn't be explained by regular genetic mutations, albeit unusual ones. Or more tricks. But, for the sake of argument, let's assume you're right."

Moira blinked. "Really?"

"Really. Can you look me in the eye and tell me that it'll be cost effective? That we won't spend millions and just get one psychic trooper who can bend spoons?"

"I..." The scientist was now _really_ looking forward to the dissection awaiting her in her lab, just by way of stress relief. "If your Golden Boy is so 'cost-effective', why doesn't _he_ pitch in? Why isn't he contributing some of _his_ own resources?"

Schmidt gave her a long, calm look. "One, do you realize you said that in German? Two, it's kind of hard to get at your money when you're legally dead. Three, _he did_."

Moira Vahlen suddenly felt very small. "Oh."

**-/-**

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Agent Barton turned around, very slowly. He had heard Potts coming down the stairs, but he hadn't wanted to spook her.

"Nice house you have here," he said, gesturing with his good arm.

Confusion on her face. He could work with that.

"Thanks," she said, not lowering the Apogee Award. "Now, tell me who you are bef—"

"I'm with SHIELD," he said, destroying her conversational momentum. He wasn't as good as his partner at this social engineering stuff, but he'd picked up a few tricks. "We're here to pick up some of Mr. Stark's items."

"What happened to Coulson?"

"He's on another assignment."

_Now_ Potts lowered the Award and pointed at his sling. "What happened to _you_?"

Barton blinked.

"Someone winged me. I volunteered for this assignment, since I was off the roster anyway."

The redhead nodded, brow still furrowed. "I don't understand. Why do you suddenly need Tony's stuff _now_? The legal stuff is all done, I'm -" she looked around at her new living room, the one with a beautiful view of the Pacific "- I'm in a new tax bracket, Stane's running Stark Industries -"

"The guy who sent me said to tell you 'steam shovel'."

The Award hit the ground with a soft thump.

Barton had seen it before. Their mouths open, their limbs lose strength, and they sit down on the nearest chair or sofa.

Potts sat down on the nearest sofa. Which happened to be really expensive. And, unlike most expensive sofas, quite comfortable. Only the best for Tony Stark (legally deceased).

"What-?" she began. "_How?_" Then she hugged a pillow and began to cry.

"He also said 'sorry, honey, I won't make it home for dinner'."

Potts laughed through her tears. "After — _heh_ — all that work I put into making his supper." Beat. "His pizza will get cold."

The agent sniffed. "Smells like pepperoni."

Pepper gave another one of those weird giggle-sobs.

It was somewhat awkward for Barton. The last time he had been in the presence of a crying redhead, she'd proceeded to dislocate someone's arm. And she hadn't been laughing at the time. Except maybe on the inside.

"So...I guess I'll just leave you alone now."

"Wait." Pepper took a deep breath. "Tell him to hurry home. I hear Stane's driving everyone _crazy_."

"Really? We're going to swing by the office later. I'll have a chat with him."

"You don't have to -"

"Oh," said Barton, with an oddly predatory grin, "I insist."

**-/-**

Eamon had never been killed, though he had failed before, and come pretty close. But here, he didn't even have a clear objective. Nothing from the Benefactor. No vision, voice from on high, or implanted knowledge. Would it have killed them to shoot him an email?

_It may be that the only purpose of your life is to serve as a warning to others_.

Comforting thought.

Progress was faster than it had been in the film, since the team had both the intact Mark 1 and Tony's notes. Also, instead Tony and Stark Industries scientists working seperately, they were working together. And third -

_"It's not a full suit," Tony had explained._

_Schmidt had blinked. "Explain."_

_"It's a powered exoskeleton. Made to enhance mobility and endurance," Irene had clarified._

_"But not protection?" And the Director's rigatoni had resumed its journey to her month._

_"That's the second half of the programme. We have a nanofiber and spider-silk underlayer in development."_

_"I think this is the part where I ask 'under _what_?'"_

_Tony had flashed his salesman smile. "Ablative armor. Vests, wristbands, those shinguard things."_

_"Vambrances and greaves, Tony. That's all we could figure out how to articulate overnight without sacrificing mobility."_

_"The escape suit handled like a tank. I'm trying to make armor that handles, well, not like a sports car, maybe more like a mountain bike."_

_"More like a street bike."_

_"No, I'm pretty sure it's a mountain bike -"_

_"I approve," Schmidt had said._

_A pair of "What?"s._

_"I approve. SUNDAY BEST is go. And the gun and visor you were working on too."_

_"What - how'd you even -"_

_A ghost of a smile. "You'd better grab some lunch before meeting your team."_

_The other two had nodded. And then, in perfect unison, gone "What?"_

One of the dozen new engineers, some guy named Singh, was from Caltech. Tony, being an MIT man, had been eying him warily, and he'd been returning the favor. Irene had already declared herself a neutral territory in the incipient prank war, but nonetheless feared becoming collateral damage due to her proximity to Tony. Other engineers were carefully making sure their equipment was waterproofed. The lab remained locked in a state of detente.

And then there was the paperwork.

Tony wasn't good at paperwork.

He seemed to regard Irene as a substitute Pepper in that regard. Jo had been helping her juggle both hats, and was taking up most of the administrative slack.

The head of Procurement was a Scot, which Eamon thought a little cliched, and a thirty-something redhead, which was less so. She had taken issue with Tony commandeering the equipment in the hangar, and over his _absurd_ requests, and had no idea how he managed to talk the director into this, this -

The playboy, against all prior evidence, was somehow managing to keep his mouth shut. Irene, for her part, was looking at a bearded, dark-haired man from the Stark family being harangued by a furious ginger Scotswoman and fighting not to go "_you know nothin', Jon Snow_".

Fletcher finally finished her tirade and walked off, still muttering to herself.

"Well," Tony commented, once she was safely out of earshot, "_that_ was invigorating." He turned to Irene. "Dr. Singh, medicine woman, finally approved the biometrics setup and auto-calibrate. She said she'll be monitoring it from Medical."

Eamon wondered whether calling Kavita Rao that was technically racist. It wasn't like her opinion of Tony - or anyone - was much more charitable. As opposed to Fletcher, who only got upset for things like nigh-impossible requests from spoiled rich billionaires.

Both of Rao's concerns had been the ideas of The Team. The biometrics were obvious. And for flexibility's sake, the rigs weren't keyed to specific operators. Every user had their own profile, and the suit automatically adjusted to it. Once it hooked into the link points on their underlayer, the soldier was fully operational.

Though Eamon expected a certain amount of kvetching about seats being moved.

"So," asked Jo, "what are you calling this thing?"

Tony thought for a second.

"Well, since this is a product of project SUNDAY BEST - seriously, who chooses these names? - and another term for Sunday is 'Sabbath', and I like Black Sabbath, I think we should call it -"

"_War Pig_?" Irene volunteered, looking as innocent as she could contrive..

"Uh, no."

"_Die Young_? _Electric Funeral_? _Supernaut_?"

"Actually, I was going to go with —"

"HERAKLES Light Assist Armature, Mark 1" Jo said.

"What?"

"Just came down from the director. Actually, since you're on the same floor, I guess you could say it came sideways."

"And you couldn't have told me earlier?"

"I did. In the paperwork."

"_Irene_ does the paperwork."

"Whoops, did I forget to mention that? But don't worry, you can call the next one _Wrathchild_."

"That's _Iron Maiden_!"

Ah, the perks of the job.

**-/-**

Dieter had a ferocious headache.

He stared up at the hospital room ceiling. Listening to the hundreds of little noises of the night. The beeping of the monitors. The faint hum-rattle of the HVAC. Shoes and wheels squeaking on polished floors.

It wasn't even that it hurt that much. He had been _shot_ before. It was the reminder. He had let that _thing_ into his mind, let it work his body like a puppet, move his lips like it had a hand jammed up his -

He frowned as he heard low conversation, two thumps. That was new.

And tomorrow...tomorrow they would debrief him. And then he would never put on a uniform again.

The door opened, and in walked a nurse with a clipboard. She didn't turn on the lights. "Sergeant? Your file says you've been having trouble with headaches." She pulled a syringe from her pocket. "I've got something for that."

Dieter shrugged, as best as he could, and reached for his remote.

"Oh no, don't get up." She did something to the IV, something that soothed his muscles and introduced a welcome haze into his mind. "I know you are only here for observation. They say you must ve been very brave."

She sat down by his bed, and the soldier noted her rather shapely body. He wondered what the odds were that he'd meet a woman exactly his type, who was interested in a soldier, just as he was about to get fired.

"Can you tell me about it?"

He was planning to say "that's classified", but it somehow came out "why not?"

He took a second to compose his thoughts. And then another. And then he giggled as he said "I was mind-controlled by an alien."

The nurse was silent, then "what was it like?"

"Purple. I remember a lot of purple," Dieter said solemnly, then giggled again. "There were also these images...ideas. Not exactly ideas, more like...have you ever had a thought, then forgot it, then its ghost remained?"

The nurse went very still, then got up and crossed to the IV again. She sure liked fiddling with it. "You're sure you got only ghosts?"

He nodded. "Mmm-hm."

"I see. Well, Sergeant, you had better get some rest."

Sure, sleep seemed like a good idea. "Night."

"Good night."

As the woman left the room, she stepped over the bodies of the two guards. She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket as she walked briskly toward the stairwell.

"He's done. Only fragments. Nothing worthwhile."

Behind her, an alarm went off at the nurse's station.

"Hail HYDRA."

**-/-**

So.

Who _was_ Irene Starkos?

XCOM's Internet access, as one might expect of a top-secret organization, was heavily restricted, filtered by Jo for any identifying material, and if someone traced their IP addresses, they'd appear to be originating out of Calcutta. Then Brisbane. Then London. England _and_ Ontario.

_I will lead them on a merry chase..._

Okay...so how was he going to do this?

Eamon put his fingers on the home keys, and let muscle memory and regular memory take over, just like it had when he gave Tony his name.

Facebook said she had been a university lecturer for a decade or so, then Irene Starkos (MEng) had been working on a engineering concept for some fancy-sounding topic that Eamon didn't recognize. But if he concentrated, Irene did, though, and _she_ remembered many, many sleepless nights working on it. More than a few headaches and tears.

Much like working with Tony, in fact.

He had a quick scan of her purchases on Amazon.

_The Color of Water_, _American Apartheid_,a few books on Greek Cooking (that, if Eamon's own attempts at Irish cooking were any indication, were doubtless propping up a bookshelf somewhere), _Cosmos_ Box Set, _To Engineer is Human_, a few Discworld books, some Asimov, a whole shedload of Patterson, one or two Nikki Heat novels, nothing spectacular.

A little chat window popped up.

_Jo: feeling homesick?_

Oh, she had _no_ idea.

Eamon asked Jo to punch up Irene's family on Facebook. She even did it in tabs.

_thx_, he typed._  
_

So...mother, father, sister...no brother. A bit of diligent searching on some ancestry websites, and Irene learned she was "Chindian" on mum's side, and Black/Greek on dad's. Stick "gay" in there, and she'd be a one-woman affirmative-action quota, wouldn't she?

Speaking of which, did Irene have any boyfriends? Her profile said "Not in a relationship". Eamon checked her tagged photos. There were several with men, some of them with kissing or cuddling, and then he found one from a few years back with Irene cheek to cheek with another woman, arms around each other's shoulders. "My baby and me—"

Oh.

Oh, of _course_.

If Eamon _ever_ met the entity who kept writing him into these sorts of situations, he was going to _punch them in the face_.

**-/-**

The door to the lab opened.

"Laura!" Irene said as she rose. "Come _in_! How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," said the trooper, stepping into Development and looking around. "Actually, I came to see how _you_ were doing." She gestured at the mostly-empty lab. "Where is everyone?"

"Lunch. They're trying to iron out the kinks in the flight module."

"You're making us muscle suits that can _fly_?"

"Well, no, not yet, because, y'know, kinks." Why was she babbling? "Actually, Tony tried a kitbashed rig in the hangar just before lunch. But he used too much power and -"

"- Went bouncing off the side of a Skyranger." Laura smiled. "The aircrew's been talking about it, but they assumed that was just Stark being Stark."

"Ah, right, I forgot that the fastest things in the universe are the speed of light -"

"- And military gossip." Laura finished. "So, what else you been up to?"

"Better living through technology," Irene quipped. "Specifically, robots."

Dummy chose that point to roll up and offer his manipulator to Laura, who shook it solemnly.

"You're the robot Stark built, right?"

"When he was a kid, yeah." Irene leaned back against the counter, stretched. "I hear he was pretty lonely."

Dummy nodded.

"Most people just get a dog. So...what does he do, exactly?"

"Look cute and be a mascot. Say, after lunch, they're sim-testing the Herakles on the Playground. Want me to see if I can get you on the list?"

Laura's eyes lit up. "_Really_?"

Irene nodded. "Really. Actually, some of us actually tried it ourselves, just for laughs. Wanna see?"

The trooper grinned. "_Yes_. Did you try?"

"No. Not with -" she looked down "- this figure."

Laura gave her a sidelong look. "I think it's a very nice figure," she said, softly.

The engineer cleared her throat. "So, ah, I'll go get the popcorn."

During the feature presentation, the American stood, perhaps, a tad too close to fit in the bounds of recent introduction. Irene snuck a look at Laura's figure while she was laughing at one of the world's smartest people running full-tilt into a tree. Not ba -

Wait just a _second_.

If Eamon _ever_ met the entity who kept writing him into these sorts of situations, he was going to punch them in the face_ twice_.

**-X-**

**Coldplay - "The Scientist"**

I swear, the "Pepperoni" thing was random. I had completely forgotten it was the name for the Pepper/Tony ship.


	5. 05 Take this thing into overtime

**05 Take this thing into overtime**

**-O-**

For a high-tech aircraft capable of hitting Mach 4, the XC-94 Skyranger was pretty quiet.

The operation involved a private space launch facility that had been attacked by unknown forces. This wouldn't be their bailiwick, except for the minor fact that the satellite they were about to launch was being sent up by the Council, to monitor alien activity. The private security firm on the ground was reporting assault from humans with laser weapons. No prizes for guessing who the number one suspects were.

Their objective was to secure the facility and prevent damage to the satellite. Saving the launch facilities was a second priority. Saving personnel was a distant third.

Laura examined the new iron.

The Chimera was an experimental staggered-emitter array rifle, not unlike one of those Metal Storm guns. Except, of course, with lasers.

Last time Laura had heard, laser weapons were still at the anti-vehicle level, and they were bad even at that. She wasn't sure about holding a ripoff version of the same type of weapon that killed her partner.

Well, not entirely a ripoff.

The American tapped a control, and the ten emitters on the front of the weapon, arranged in two vertical rows, flipped to the horizontal. One trigger pull, and just about any unarmored human and many armoured ones would be getting a real bad sunburn. Of course, the individual emitters got less power than in semi-auto or burst, and it ate up power and built heat like crazy, but it seemed like a good tradeoff for some close-range firepower.

She cranked it out of shotgun mode, holstered the Mutt on her back hardpoint, and pulled her regular AR for a once-over.

Sargeant Elise "Shrimp" Okoye was tall, deceptively willowy, and biracial. Laura would've wondered if the drumbeat the South African was absently tapping out on her weapon was some sort of traditional battle music or something, if she hadn't recognized Rammstein.

Pausing in her drum solo, Shrimp said "Hey, Corp, why does Byler get to play with the new toys and not us?"

"Everyone has the BASILISK visors," Laura began, "not to mention -"

"Gee, Sarge, I dunno," said Corporal "Viking" Nillssen. The blond Swede stroked his long, braided beard theatrically. "Maybe because she's dating Lady?"

Laura began to sputter.

"Good point," chimed in Daniel "Shiny" Levin, formerly of Shin Bet. "You know what they say; experimental laser weapons are a girl's best friend."

Laura Byler, who had faced gunfire, laser fire, and plasma fire without a flinch, blushed. "Sh - shut up! We're not - Besides, how do you explain Mac?"

Macinally looked up from his final checks of his Assault/Designated Marksman Rifle hybrid, so hot off the forges it didn't even have a code name yet. The troops mainly fell into two camps; "Ra" or "Doomer". Laura had twenty American on "Chiron".

"I dunno," Shrimp said innocently. "Maybe she likes to share."

"Just so you know, _I hate you all_."

"What did _I_ do?" Mac protested.

"Let them get away with it."

"Get _away_? I thought they were making suggestions."

The team laughed. Laura blushed even harder, and glared at Shrimp. A squad leader was _supposed_ to be more professional, she was supposed to -

Get Hotel operating as a unit, and that included increasing camaraderie, and keeping them from being nervous. _Man_, she was smooth.

Laura, looked down, tapped her chestblate, wondered, not for the first time, how usefull the strips of armor would be in real combat. There was an aperture in its center, part of the flight system that the armor didn't actually have. The emitter had been intended to work as a vertical thruster, but since they were still working out the kinks, it stayed irised shut.

Though the aperture being in the shape of an X was funny.

The suit felt surprisingly natural on her, even with actuators strapped to her limbs. Even the gloves were reinforced, and -

"Thirty seconds to drop," the pilot called.

Okoye pulled up the drone footage of the area on her tablet, and, with a few taps, designated the drop zones for Alpha and Bravo. Stowing the computer, she stood - Shrimp was not a short woman - grasped the strap on the ceiling, and shouted "_Tangos check in!_"

The team finished the cant; "_But they don't check out!_"

And thus began Operation GLASS ENGINE.

**-/-**

Alpha ran past the scorched bodies of security personnel.

From the drone, it all looked clean, simple. Two sets of black SUVs, arranged in rough defensive lines, bracketed at the end closer to the launch pad with two large petrol tanks. A ways past that was the employee garage, which was Bravo's first waypoint, from which they could check out the tower which marked the third point of the obtuse triangle.

The drone image didn't smell like cooked pork.

Mac outpaced both the Swede and the African easily. He was crouching against one of the cars on the friendly side of the skirmish when they arrived. "What took you so long?"

"Hey," said someone from the next SUV over, making all three soldiers jump. Had he _teleported_ there? "Wilson, Aegis International," gasped the merc. "Who are you?"

"Classified."

"Must be Italian. I'm going to need to see some identification."

The heavily armed soldiers just stared at him.

"Just kidding."

Viking stared at his many burns. "Don't you...don't you want to get something on that?" His hand reached toward his medkit.

Wilson grinned. "_Tis but a flesh wound!_"

"Monty Python. _Now?_"

"I fart in their general direction." The grin slipped. "Sorry. Helps me say sane."

"Are you sure it's working?"

"Most of my team barricaded themselves in the office, with the civvies. The rest of us...well..." He grimaced. "You're looking at the rest of the rest of us."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? Did _you_ shoot them?" And the grin was back.

"Wait," Shrimp chimed in. "They were trying to kill you when we showed up? Just you?"

Wilson looked puzzled. "Well, yeah. On account of everyone else being dead."

"You lot _have_ noticed that he's holding a laser weapon, right?" Jocasta pointed out.

Bravo collectively blinked.

"Which he presumably took from one of the HYDRA forces? In fact...yep, according to the Aegis personnel records, he's assistant security chief for that entire facility, and their standard loadout is just handguns. Don't underestimate him."

"So where's _the_ chief?" Bradford asked.

"Bermuda. Conveniently enough."

"Think he's in on it?" Mac mused, under his breath.

"That's not our wheelhouses, people," Central chided, somewhat hypocritically.

"Is that your overwatch?" The mercenary turned and waved at the drone. "Can it get eyes on these guys?"

Wilson's phone rang.

"Y'ello? Yeah, this is kind of a bad ti - oh. Mm I'm? Oh, okay. Got it." He hung up. "Your boss just told me to shut up, and for you to test out the Pinger."

"Oh, good." Mac reached for his belt, hit a switch, then activated the AR article that only existed behind his glasses and the sensors in his gloves. "Pinging."

An ultrasonic tingle ran through the bones of all four people present.

"For that deep-down _clean_ feeling," Wilson muttered.

"Quiet," Mac hissed, waiting for the data to make its round trip from Jocasta. Encoding, sending to the 'Ranger, transmitting to base, processing, sending back to the 'Ranger, back to him...

The Augmented Reality overlay showed him the silhouettes of two people hiding behind one car, and a third hiding behind another. The drone corroborated the ping, and the Scot relayed the information to the team.

"I think..." he began, squinting in the Texan sunlight, "that I can get the fuel tank on the car next to the larger group."

"Do it," Shrimp ordered.

Mac leaned out, holding down the trigger so the rifle could build up the maximum charge while he lined up the shot. According to the overlay, keeping it charged drained the battery. Good to know.

The first shot pierced the tank easily. The second and third ignited the petrol. And then -

"And _boom_ goes the dynamite!"

"Wilson, _shut up_!"

**-/-**

Bravo stacked up on the door to the garage, the rookie behind Laura, Shiny on the far side. Said rookie had been silent on the bus, and spent most of it tapping a nervous drumbeat on the grip of her weapon.

The Israeli reached for the handle of the door, and waited for the other two. Kristin Arnadottir squeezed the American's shoulder, Irene nodded, and they swept the room.

Kristin Arnadottir was a cop, from Iceland, and so fresh off the bus she didn't even have a nickname yet.

Of course, neither did Laura.

All three soldiers called "Clear!" as they finished their sweep. The older two lowered their weapons, and after a few seconds, the rook lowered hers as well." _Tap tap-tap_.

She had _freckles_.

"Hey," said Shiny, giving the rookie a reassuring, movie-star smile. "What's wrong?"

"The gasoline," Arnadottir said, pointing to the puddles on the floor.

"The guards hit a fuel tank or two while they were pulling back to the office." The fireteam leader nodded at the shuttered office door. "It's no problem. Are you any good as a spotter?"

"I'm - I _was_ a police officer!"

"So, no. We try to cross-train around here." Levin slung his assault rifle and pulled out his new toy, the Orion Variable Threat Rifle. The boys and girls in uniform were already trying to figure out a cutesy belt-related nickname. "No time like the present."

"You guys go, I want to check something out. I'm right behind you."

They looked askance at Laura, but they went.

So, what was bugging her?

The cars were parked in their places, except for the ones that had been interrupted pulling in. A few fallen guards. No one had left their engine running. No sparks, so there was no chance of a fi -

Oh.

The puddles.

Some of the tracks were the booted feet of XCOM. One set was hers, from the muscle suit. Some were presumably from the guards, or HYDRA. And one set was a large, triangular section followed by a smaller dot.

High heels.

Someone had been through the garage after the firefight.

"Bravo Lead," Laura murmured, "soft contact."

**-/-**

Macinally's charge pushed the SUV back a few feet, knocking over the Tango who was using it for cover. This was promptly followed by a flashbang rolled under the vehicle. By the time the terrorist recovered his senses, he was staring down at the barrel of a gun that looked very big from that angle.

"Central," Mac said, "we need to start carrying safety cuffs."

"Noted."

"Please remind Malibu that we just need safety cuffs, not something that takes twenty minutes and an instruction manual." Mac rolled the soldier over onto his front, and bound his hands with his own webbing belt.

The other troops on the line chuckled.

"Malib - oh. I'll be sure to tell Stark, who's probably watching you anyway."

"Is the drone getting my good side?"

Jocasta spoke. "Be advised, I can't break into the security systems."

"You mean they're that good?" Viking asked.

"I mean someone beat me to it. Smile, you're on Candid Camera."

"All Hotel elements," Okoye ordered. "Cover your faces best as you can. Though this may be a case of guarding the house after the thief has left."

"Oh, that's not the only good news. Getting into the systems required physical access."

"Wilson, did any of these men go near the office?"

"Some of them were in the garage, but they never made it into the office itself, much less patched into the systems."

"Roger," said Levin. "Need help?"

"I got it," Laura replied. "Searching."

"Tangos appear to have some kind of explosives," Arnadottir reported.

"_What?_" said Central.

"They're going to try and blow the fuel tank."

"But the tank's empty!" Wilson broke in. "The launch was scrubbed automatically when we came under attack from nutjobs with lasers. These people, I tell ya, no work ethic."

"Does the computer know that?" Shrimp asked. "Because if the nozzle's in the tank, all they need to do is start pumping."

"Wait a second." Viking frowned. "If this is launch day, where are the cameras?"

"Spaceflight isn't as...sexy as it used to be," Wilson admitted. "Actually, we thought these guys _were_ the press. Passes checked out and everything. Even had cameras, a van, the whole nine ya -"

"_Alpha element,_" Jocasta suddenly barked. "_Large contact, rounding the fuel tanks! Enemy unknown!_"

Then the HYDRA Heavy Support trooper appeared, leveled his Squad Laser Automatic Weapon, and proceeded to dispense crimson fire.

**-/-**

"Stay on-task, Bravo," Central ordered. "Alpha can handle it."

"Roger," Shiny said, grudgingly. It had been the take from his team's guncams and visors that had let Jo notice the enemy contact just before he moved out of sight. He didn't appreciate being left out of the -

He took a deep breath, refocused.

"Kris, range to Tangos on tower."

**-/-**

Laura grabbed the handle of a car door, and pulled it open, to find -

A screaming, hysterical woman, going _pleasedon'tshootpleasenoplease_.

"Calm down!" Laura yelled. "I'm not here to hurt you!"

"Th-then why are you pointing a gun at me?" The civvie had a Texan twang.

"Procedure. Please get out of the car; it's not safe here."

"Well, where _is_ safe?"

"Ah..." Laura looked around. "That security desk. Good defensive position. And it's probably a lot more comfortable."

The woman giggled, still half-hysterical. "'Kay."

Hyper took a chance, lowered her weapon, and offered her hand. The civilian took it, stepping out of the car with her purse.

"What's your name?"

"Callie Davis. What's yours?"

Laura blinked, and said the first name that popped into her head. "Irene." Oh, they were never going to let her hear the end of this. "Let's go."

**-/-**

"Research's done the math on your shot. Here's your power setting." The number popped up on the visor. "Recalibrating your scope."

"Thank you, Jo." Levin dialed in the repulsor's power. Coarse and fine adjustment knobs. Just like his high school microscope.

"They're putting it on the tank," Arnadottir reported. She hadn't even bothered to unsling her weapon. Even if she had been packing one of the 'rayguns', she kvetched, it would've been like hitting it with a flashlight.

"Test shot," Shiny announced, and sent a tungsten round straight through the fuel tank of the "news van" that had been parked at the base of the tower. It also had the side effect of piercing the life mechanism, trapping one terrorist in the elevator.

Correction; one dead terrorist.

The last rat, who had just planted the device, immediately hit the deck.

The Israeli frowned. "They overpenetrated. Central, run those numbers again? I'd hate to set off the charge while I'm trying to disable it." He flexed his shoulder; the new gun had a kick like a mule.

"Roger."

**-/-**

"Are you with the security people? What's goin' on with your gun? Why are you wearin' that suit?"

It seemed like once she wasn't in imminent fear for her life, Callie was a complete chatterbox.

There was a security mirror on the ceiling. Laura eyed it as she led the other women toward the desk. The civilian was rummaging around in her purse for something.

"Are you here alone? Are you with the police? This have anything to do with those UFOs?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Are we being attacked by aliens?"

She pulled out a handgun, and held it down by her leg.

"Hang on." The soldier stowed her Mutt without looking back, and leant on the table with both hands, like she was stretching.

The Texan took the chance to point her gun at the back of Laura's head.

"Byler -" Jo said.

"Yeah," Laura said, softly. "I know."

Then she hit Callie with the desk.

**-/-**

"Central, we need air support!" Shrimp yelled. "He's got us locked down!"

"Roger. Coming in from the East. Danger close."

"From the East?" Wilson looked around frantically. "Cover your ears and open your mouth!"

"What? Why?"

"For the explosion!"

"What explo -"

The Skyranger chose that point to swoop into view, aim down the two sets of cars, and introduce itself to the HYDRA trooper, using the chin-mounted Heavy Machine Gun. After handily winning the game of "mine's bigger", some of the tracer rounds accidentally proceeded past the shredded terrorist and into the fuel tanks behind him.

Several minutes later, the ringing in Okoye's ears died down enough for her to say "Oh. _That_ explosion."

**-/-**

"Stings, don't it?" said the enemy soldier.

Her world was pain. She was fairly certain the desk had cracked a few ribs, and she was having trouble breathing. She was having trouble just focusing. And everything smelled like gasoline.

No, wait, that was because she was in a puddle of gasoline. No doubt shed by the guards trying to fend off her brothers.

"Now," continued the soldier, in an exagerrated Texan accent, "way I see it, you got two options."

The infiltrator looked up. Irene had her weapon out and levelled. The configuration had shifted, the holes on the front were now horizontal. Did that make a difference?

"You can come along quietly. Or you can go for that iron there -"

The Beretta compact sat in between them, just within lunging range.

"- and I shoot you anyway, which'll probably set you on fire if it don't kill ya, what with all the gasoline you're soaked in. And even if you do get a shot at me, the gun might be wet, might not work, might set you on fire. 'Course, I could just shoot you now, save myself the trouble."

She dropped the accent, and her eyes went hard and cold. "Before you decide which way you're gonna jump, I think you should know that your people killed a _very_ close friend of mine, so I am _really_ in favor of door number three."

A mirthless grin.

"I guess the real question is...do you feel lucky?"

**-/-**

Levin frowned down his scope.

If the numbers were wrong, they either wouldn't disable the explosive, or overpenetrate and bounce around the inside of the tank until it set off a spark -

"Wait," said the rookie. "There is no detonator installed."

The sniper blinked. "Which makes my job a whole lot easier. Good job, Spots."

The Israeli moved his targeting pipper from the moderately sized target of the charge to the somewhat smaller target of the HYDRAn's head, just barely visible over the side of the platform.

He pulled the trigger.

**-/-**

"Byler," Levin called as he entered the garage, "mission's over. We're going h -"

Laura Byler was staring at a burned corpse in a puddle or gasoline, its hand outstretched. She was just lowering a fire extinguisher.

"What _happened_?" asked Spots.

"I think when they hacked the security system, they accidentally disabled the sprink -"

"The _body_, Laura!" Levin barked.

"Oh." The American looked at the body, then back at her fireteam leader. She gestured at the former with the nozzle of the extinguisher, her face expressionless. "She got burned."

**-/-**

The champagne went _pop_. Tony proceeded to poor it liberally into his team's glasses.

"All right, everyone! We have champagne. If you don't drink, we have apple cider. If you don't drink that either, we have apple juice. If you're not thirsty, we have actual apples." He produced one, and bit into it in a credible imitation of Chairman Kaga. Or his nephew.

Singh held a multimeter under Tony's nose, and spoke into an imaginary camera. "Mr. Stark, how does it feel to have revolutionized infantry combat?"

"Well, Bob, I'd say it was more of a team effort, and we can't rest on our laurels. Also, there's something _different_ about you." He pretended to study the Indian-American man in front of him. "Did you do something with your hair?"

This was met with general mirth by the audience. Even the ones who had no idea who Bob Costas was.

Tony looked around. "Hey, where's Irene?"

Suddenly, everyone looked awkward. Singh said "Uh..."

**-/-**

"Ma'am," Laura said, and saluted.

"Sit down, Byler," said the Director.

Not using her rank. Was that good or bad?

"How are your fingers?"

Laura flexed said appendages. "A little stiff."

"Development says they're working on improving the actuators in the gauntlets. So, how did you know that woman was a spy?"

"I didn't, not for sure. But we knew there was some kind of agent to give them access. Ma'am."

"What about the gun? I know you saw it in the mirror."

"We were in _Texas_, Director. In fact, didn't the news say gun sales have gone up nationwide since the invasion started? Panicky people have done stupid stuff with guns before, like drawing one in the presence of an armed soldier without telling them."

"So you baited her."

"If she was innocent, ma'am, she would've followed me peacefully. If not..."

"And you didn't let us in on your plan...why?"

"Because she was standing right next to me, ma'am."

"So we need some kind of duress codes," Schmidt sighed, leaning back in her chair. "And closed helmets. I'll get Stark on that second one."

She returned to vertical. "Now. About what happened _next_."

Oh boy.

**-/-**

When Laura left Schmidt's office, she found Levin waiting.

"Here to get chewed out too?"

"Actually, I'm here for you." He reached into his pocket. A little stiffly. "They went with 'Chiron'. Here's your share of the pot."

"Ha! I _knew_ it." It perked her up a little.

The Israeli hesitated, then reached out to his squadmate.

"I don't care what the brass said." He squeezed Laura's shoulder, smiled. "Good kill, Hotshot." And then he walked off.

The American stared after him.

_Hotshot_.

She liked it.

**-/-**

Laura knocked on Irene's hatch.

The woman who opened the door was clad in glasses, a t-shirt and sweatpants. She didn't meet the soldier's eyes, keeping her gaze to the floor.

"Laura...I...I don't know how to say this, but I _need_ you." My body, I...I want you to -"

"Everyone knows about your period, Irene."

Irene looked up, frowning. "Couldn't you at least let me have _some_ fun? It's not like I'm going to get much else amusement out of it." She opened the door wider, and gestured. "Step into my parlour."

"Looks like a bedroom."

"How'd that happen? I could've sworn I left my parlour here."

"So what to you need me to do?"

"Rub my belly."

Laura took a step back toward the door.

"It's for my period, silly.."

"Ah. So, does that new pill not work on you?"

"Well, what with everything happening, I...kinda forgot. Rao wouldn't let me use a medkit, even after I promised to wash off the nozzle afterwards. She did give me painkillers, which haven't kicked in yet." The engineer frowned. "The armoury didn't help either."

Laura looked confused.

"They wouldn't let me borrow a pistol."

Still confused.

"To kill myself."

Laura finally got the joke. "Ohhh."

Irene sat down on the bed, and sat down. She patted a spot, and Laura sat next to her, cautiously. "If you don't mind me saying so, you don't seem to be in pain."

The older woman leaned in, like she was telling a secret, and Laura noticed, for the first time, the sweet smell on her breath. "_That's because I'm drunk!_" She giggled, and dropped her head into Laura's lap.

The soldier tried not to freak out.

She could take her down five different ways with just her hands, but she couldn't figure out how to escape safely. MCMAP had been sadly lacking in that area.

"So, ah, what do you expect me to do here?" Her hands were hovering above Irene like a vulture looking for - no, she did not like _that_ metaphor one bit.

"Instructions. Tablet." Irene pointed, then rolled up her shirt.

"Oh." Laura paged through the guide. "How long?"

"About twenty minutes, I think. We'll see how it goes. Feel free to put on some music."

Oookay. The base's internal pop/rock station.

"So," Irene said, as some singer began to croon about the fact that they were _left_, to their _own_, devi-i-i-_ices_, "what do you do when you're not saving the world?"

"Angry Birds, mostly."

"Ah."

"I find it compelling as an allegory for mankind's eternal struggle against the world for the hearts of its progeny. Coming to terms with _empty nests_, if you will." Laura said, straight-faced. She tried not to think about whether she liked pushing the academic's tummy. It was just a favor for a friend, that's all. "Also, I like knocking the pigs over."

Irene turned to look at her dubiously, without raising her head. "English or Art?"

"Psych. My roomie did English, though." She snorted. "So much for two weekends a month."

"Uh...about what happened in the garage -"

"I don't want to talk about it," Laura said flatly.

"I just wanted to ask how your accent was so good."

"Well, I _am_ from Dallas."

"Thanks for this, by the way."

"No problem."

Laura waited until Irene was relaxed and drowsy and had lowered her guard, then went "you know, I've had _worse_ first dates."

**-/-**

Phantom-5 Lead was a middle-aged Indian named Nayan Chanda. He was well-known on the base for his magnificent moustache. Right now, it was twitching as he watched Voodoo Lead's obvious agitation.

"Do the coin flip again," Pena said.

Chanda shook his head. "You lost, Pena. No second chances."

"C'_mon_, Money!" Santiago called from Phantom's 'Ranger.

"In fact, wasn't it your idea?" Nayan pointed out.

"Yeah, but I don't like the cold."

"Poland is warm this time of year. Quit complaining." He studied his counterpart. "I dont believe you're actually _asking_ for the escort mission. What's the _real_ problem?"

"Fine." The Argentinian took a deep breath. "It's the name."

"The name?"

"I mean, have you seen it? 'Operation FINAL HYMN'. _Dios mio_," he muttered under his breath.

"My God," the Indian echoed cheerfully.

"It's random, I swear," Jo chipped in.

"Don't worry, Pena," Phantom Lead said. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Hey, boss," called Santiago from the Skyranger's ramp. "Pilot says the express to Shanghai is high in five!"

Chanda would've patted his friend on the shoulder, but he was worried the muscle suit might accidentally break it. "Remember, you'll have the old lady running the operation."

"I'm sorry, is having my boss looking over my shoulder supposed to make me feel _less_ worried?"

**-/-**

The camera in the store window faced the street, and had accidentally been left running all night. During the bulk of the incident, it displayed nothing of interest.

The portion that was posted to YouTube - and shortly thereafter LiveLeak, Dailymotion, and several filesharing sites - opens with an empty street. After a few seconds, a man in a ballistic mask and unusual body armor enters the cameras view, shooting at something offscreen with a weapon that fires red rays of light.

A green bolt enters the frame, and strikes the weapon, disabling it and injuring the soldier's hands. A second bolt strikes the soldier's armor in the leg area, and he falls.

A second soldier enters the frame from the other direction. She crouches next to the first soldier, and attempts to drag him to his rear, while firing one-handed at the offscreen assailant. The injured soldier has produced a pistol, this one apparently firing regular bullets, and is trying to fire it one-handed.

An indistinct dark mass enters the frame from offscreen, and the upright soldier is struck in her mask by it. She drops the weapon, and then claws at her face, ripping at the keffiyeh covering the lower half of her it, revealing an Asian woman with tears streaming from her eyes and foam bubbling from her lips.

The fallen soldier tries to split his attention between the assailant and his injured comrade.

The woman falls over onto all fours, then slumps to the ground.

Her comrade stares at her body for a few seconds, then empties his magazine at the threat. While he reloads, the enemy finally enters the frame, moving quickly. Before the soldier can fire, the assailant reaches him. In a few deft movements, he removes the gun, and puts a bullet through each of the soldier's hands.

He appears to be an officer of the local police.

The officer lifts up the soldier and drags him toward the window the camera is filming from. Aside from being somewhat slim, he looks perfectly normal.

Upon reaching the sidewalk outside the store, the assailant tears the soldier's ballistic mask off, revealing a Hispanic man, his face twisted with rage and defiance. The cop lowers his head toward the struggling soldier, as if for a kiss. His throat suddenly convulses, much like a snake swallowing an egg, but in reverse. The trooper's mouth is pried open, and something dark is spewed into it.

The slim man smiles. He grabs the soldier around his neck, and pushes his face into the window. Viewers see the man trying to push his way free. Then he begins to cough, to claw at his throat. His eyes go bloodshot, roll back in his head, and foam begins to bubble from his lips.

The stranger drops him when he goes limp. He then looks at the camera, smiles, waves, and walks off.

**-/-**

Mission Control was dead silent.

Well, as silent as it ever got, what with the soft hum of computers, the whispering of the ventilation system. But as for the human occupants, not a peep, not a word. Most of them were staring at a single person, who was themselves staring up at the screen with a face like granite.

At that moment, David Bradford wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and never come out again.

_But I have promises to keep..._

"Call it, sir," someone said quietly.

He cleared his throat. Cleared it again. Forced the words out.

"Operation STONE PROPHET is Code Black."

**-X-**

**Quad City DJs - "Space Jam"**

Wilson is "played" by James Roday. Nilssen is basically the same character he was in _Mercenaries_, and as such is played by Peter Stomare. (One of the nice things about stunt-"casting" a fanfic is that I don't have to worry about physicality.) "Shiny" Levin is played by Oded Fehr. Pena is played by Michael Mando, because not every Hispanic male military role needs to be played by Jon Huertas. _Santiago_, tho...

"Blate" to refer to ablative personal plating is from Dan Abnett's "Embedded" (good book), which features soldiers with laser weapons weilding strength-asisst rigs, and a reporter getting into a soldier's body. For the record, not a single one of those references was intentional, except the first one.

The rocket thing is based on a sequence from "Storming Intrepid" by Payne Harrison, which is pretty good as far as airport-bookstand thrillers go. Again, didn't even realize I was referencing for most of the time I was writing it.

Nayan is played by Anil Kapoor, and based on a co-worker of mine, who really does like to say "My God" and has a moustache. Eamon is based partially on me, Miles Vorkosigian (which aren't as different as you might expect), and an Irish friend, and I have no doubt that if he found himself in the body of another woman, he'd flirt with another woman just to mess with her. Heck, he does it with men already. I'm not sure how his girlfriend feels about it.

Also: _that's XCOM, baby_.


	6. 06 Feels like it's over

**06 Feels like its over, it only just begun**

**- O -**

Vahlen watched Tony wail on a heavy bag.

It was 2AM Deutschland time, and the engineer had worked himself into a sweat in the few hours he had been there. He clearly took care of himself, and Moira tamped down a surge of hormones with a mental sniff of irritation.

She had been buried alive down here too long.

"I can get you a whip. It would be faster," she said.

Stark, who had doubtless heard her enter the empty gym, didn't turn around. "Not...before...the second...date!"

Despite herself, the corner of Vahlen's mouth turned up.

Tony delivered a jaw-rattling right cross, and turned to face the good doctor, panting. "I'm guessing you're not here at this time of night for your health."

"Your team is worried about you."

"They should be." He addressed the bag again. "I...screwed..._up_!"

"Oh, I wasn't aware that you shot them yourself."

"I didn't..."

"Did you sabotage their suits? Make any foreseeable mistake?"

"No, but..."

"Have any of the troops blamed you? Any of your staff?"

"Um..."

"Then you're an idiot, Stark."

"What?"

"You're so intelligent, and you still -" poke "- think -" poke "- it's all about _you_ -" poke. It was like poking a brick wall. He was muscle _everywhere_.

"It was my gear they were wearing. My responsibility."

"Oh, really? If you think you screwed up, why aren't you fixing the problem? Hm? Do you think Yinsen -" Tony winced at the name "- would be sitting here, beating up this poor, defenseless bag?"

"Well, no, on account of the fact that he was a 65-year old man."

Vahlen gave an irritated huff. "_Goldjunge_, you're an engineer. What were the flaws in the suit that contributed to its failure?"

"Well...unarmored motivators and joints."

"What else?"

"Not enough facial protection -"

"Now, consider; how long would they have lasted _without_ those suits?"

Tony stood there, brow furrowed.

Vahlen shook her head. "Honestly, Stark," she said softly. "You think you are the only one with regrets? The only one who lies awake at night, wondering if they could've saved lives if they had been just a little bit better? You think I'm up at this time of night for my health?"

For the first time in their little coffee klatch, Tony looked at his colleague, really _looked_. She was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and had bags under her eyes, which she hadn't bothered to conceal with makeup.

Or maybe she had wanted him to see her with her armor off.

He looked away.

"I see your point." He took a deep breath. "Thanks, Doc."

"Honestly," the German said, completely deadpan, "I just wanted you to stop hogging the punching bag."

**-/-**

Director Schmidt opened the door to Bradford's room without knocking.

Her hair was down, and covered the right side of her face, partially. She wore a slightly oversized sweater. All in all, his boss looked softer, like she had the edges filed off.

She paused inside the door, eyes closed, her right hand air-fingering the song Bradford was playing, a slight frown of concentration on her face.

Bradford, staring at her, missed a beat.

Her eyes opened, and she smiled. Still not her Game Face. "Is this Cash, or Nine Inch Nails?"

"A little of both."

"Little bit maudlin."

A corner of Bradford's mouth quirked. "I'm sorry, do you want me to play something else? The Monkees, maybe? Just as appropriate."

"Oh, I dunno...Freebird?"

Bradford smiled in earnest. "Why _are_ you here, ma'am?"

"Booty call."

Bradford stared at her. Then he began to giggle, then laugh, until he had to push the guitar aside and clutch his aching stomach.

Schmidt let him finish, a smile on her face, and eyes twinkling.

The Operations Manager eventually petered off. "Thanks, Paula, I needed that."

The blonde's smile grew. "I think that's the first time I've heard you use my first name."

"Ah, sorry, Director, I just -"

The smile grew crooked. "David, I didn't tell you to stop."

"So...why are you here?"

"To ask you a question." She grew serious. "Do you think that the mission would have gone better if I had been behind the wheel?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question, David." She sat on the bed, next to Bradford, cocked her head at him. "My op was a cakewalk. A milk run. By comparison."

"Er..."

She was warm, and smelt like freshly washed wool. And apple pie, of all things.

"I haven't personally run an op for a while, " she admitted. "But your team got _hammered_. You had to stand there and watch the temple come down around your ears, so to speak. It's bad enough for me just watching the tapes."

He had never been this close to her eyes before.

"If you want to take a break, I'll find someone to cover for you. Jo could do most of it, but she hasn't quite perfected your signature. Also, its nice to see you smile."

"Thanks."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"You barely let me get a word in edgewise."

Paula made a zipping motion across her mouth, then propped her face in her hands, Holly Golightly-style.

"No. I can't see any way I could've stopped the train rolling right off the tracks, unless I was psychic."

"But?" his boss prompted.

"...But it doesn't make me feel any better."

"I know that feeling." Schmidt looked distant, then snapped back to the present. "Best thing for it is time. And chocolate. I'll send some chocolate."

"I don't like chocolate."

"You do now. That's an order." She stood, and turned to face David. "Cheaper than Prozac. Easier to get, too."

"If there's anything you need, anything at all, let me know. _Please_. Within the budget, I mean."

"Anything?" Bradford asked.

"Well, don't expect me to try and play guitar."

**-/-**

"Miss Smith is here to see you," Stane's new secretary said.

The executive looked up from his computer, frowned, and took a deep breath.

"About the name," he said, as the redhead walked in. "Lerna International? As in the Lernean _Hydra_? Kind of obvious, don't you think?"

"Some things are best hidden in plain sight." A smile spread across her face. The kind of greasy smile that made it hard for Stane to tell whether she was actually glad to see him as a person, or just as her next victim.

He controlled his shudder, turned it into him straightening up and adjusting his tie.

Smith walked past him, to stare out his window at the Stark campus. The executive was forced to turn his chair awkwardly to keep her in view. "And I would say your suits are a little 80s, don't you think?" Before Stane could retort: "How goest the ironmongering?"

She knew, of course. She probably knew his underwear size.

"Pretty well," Stane said. "Stocks are going up. I've had some of My Guys go over those blueprints you sent over. It's kind of hard to get anything done with SHIELD looking over my shoulder."

"Well, I am sure you will be resourceful." The woman said, still facing the window. "After all, we already made the evidence connecting you and the Ten Rings vanish."

"What? That was you?"

"Yes. Why do you think a bunch of g-men haven't come breaking down your door?" She put a hand on Stane's shoulder, making his skin crawl. "Remember, Obie, we have just as much interest in maintaining this...working arrangement as you do."

The hand slid across his shoulders, in a parody of Stane's own favorite gesture. "After all, we wouldn't want SHIELD to learn that you tried to kill your boss. If they found us, we'd _have_ to tell them. They can be so persuasive, I mean."

The woman from HYDRA smiled, and tightened her grip on his shoulder. He could feel her red-painted nails digging into his flesh, even through his shirt. It occurred to the American, as he tried not to lean away, that he had never been so repulsed by the touch of a beautiful redhead before.

"And I don't think," Smith hissed in his ear, "_either_ of us want that to happen."

**-/-**

Due to a lack of space in the morgue, the coffins were kept in the hangar, pending their ride out.

"How are they going to explain this?" Fletcher said, as she stepped next to Dr. Kavita Rao.

The Medical head snapped out of her reverie, and, uncharacteristically, refrained from making a biting comment. Instead she said "Who?"

"The government," said the Scotswoman, nodding towards the boxes discreetly arranged in a corner. "Governments, I mean. They need to explain why a Marine and a Thai cop are on video fighting little green men in Shanghai, which is, last time I checked, far outside of their patrol area."

"Oh, that's easy," said the Indian. "Lie. The US, Thailand, and even China can neither confirm nor deny that there is some kind of international alien fighting task force."

She continued to stare at the coffins, like she had been for an hour.

"I did my trauma residency in Delhi," the doctor said, suddenly. "I know a sadist when I see one."

"And not the fun type, either," said the redhead, not quite under her breath.

"He was _playing_ with them, Fletcher. Like a cat with a mouse."

"But why would he - was it for us?"

"Oh, not _just_ for us. Video's up to a million or so hits already. _Chudir pola_ gets to show the world us being beaten, even with our high-tech kit. This mysterious team, who's been putting out fires all over, is beaten by one man. Or alien, whatever."

"But it wasn't -"

"I know. But the public doesn't know, and we can't tell them we got swarmed without exposing ourselves." She shook her head. "And even if we did, what then? 'No, it wasn't just _one_ human-looking invader, it was a half-dozen. And they weren't all policemen, either. Some of them were just average, everyday people you might meet on the street! Oh, and they took some of our gear, too. Just cut through some of our best armor with who-knows-what. _There's no need to fear_.'"

"I can see how that might be counterproductive."

"Indeed," Rao said. She shook her head. "I'd respect it as a brilliant piece of propaganda if I weren't staring at the results."

"And then there's morale," added the Scot. "I once read about there was once a gang that could take on a second gang, but they'd lose so many boys doing it that they'd end up picked off by the next biggest fish."

"Ah. A Pyrrhic victory. So what did they do?"

"They struck at their heart, so to speak. Ambushes, sabotage. They made a point of showing the little dogs that the big dogs couldn't protect them, and they either ran off or defected."

"So you think that they did this because they're lazy?"

"No," Fletcher said thoughtfully. "I think they're trying to do more than scare everyone. I think they're trying to make a point."

"What would that be?"

"Good question."

**-/-**

"After I finished in military, I went back to school and finished my doctorate. Russian literature."

"Should I call you _Doctor_ Dunayevsky?"

"Sasha is fine. So, I get job teaching at university. I liked it. One day, I meet girl. She comes to see me in office." He shrugged. "I think she liked large men.

"We forgot to lock the door." He frowned. "If we had just a few more seconds...She was not _my_ student. She didn't even go to that school. But she _was_ Dean's daughter.

"She blackballed me. Could not even get job teaching high school. And my mother, my sisters...I had to miss a few meals." He shook his head.

"But one of my former students paid me a visit. He 'knew someone' who needed a big guy to stand around and look intimidating." He half-smiled, and looked at his Mafiya tattoos. "And so, I fell among thieves."

"So...how did you end up in -" The therapist waved his hand. "- this?"

"The FSB has very good memory. Worked with them a few times while I was serving. Seems I impressed them."

"But you still maintain your...ties?"

"You do not leave your family. Either of them. And one will take care of the other." His brow furrowed. "But my supplier has vanished. No one knows where."

"Maybe I'm missing something, but how does that relate to the failed mission?"

"There was coin toss. To decide which team would go on mission."

"Oh."

"It was chance. Blind luck. That could've been _my_ team. Like locking the door."

"Does it bother you that your life could've ended so randomly?"

The Russian snorted. "_Perhaps you have half a century before you die—what makes this any different from a half hour?_ Tolstoy. I was in the military, Doctor. I was _Krysha_. I am big man, big target. I am not worried about myself, I am worried about my team. My squad leader, he thinks it is his fault, and yet...and yet I think he is happy it is not our squad."

"Do you think it's survivor's guilt?"

"I do not know." The big man shrugged. "Maybe he is scared. Maybe we all are." He paused for thought, then burst out. "We thought we were _pobeditel_, and then that _toshchiy ublyudok_ whispers _memento mori_ in our ear."

"I thought you said you weren't afraid of dying."

Dunayevsky thought about it. "I think..." he said, at length, "that I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of _losing_."

**-/-**

"Lights, please," Tony said.

They didn't strictly _need_ to turn off the lights to use the holo-table, but Tony wanted his team's full attention.

They gathered around the table without prompting.

"These are our rigs."

He bought up a half-dozen holograms; the Herakles suits belonging to Phantom team.

"And these are our rigs after STONE PROPHET."

The holograms went red and gold, in certain places.

The Development lab was silent. A few people waited for him to go "Any questions?" But he didn't finish the reference. Instead, he just stared at the hologram, brow furrowed, before speaking.

"When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut for about a week. Did a lot of reading. Anyone know who Gene Krantz was?"

A few hands went up.

"Gold stars for all of you. For those of you who didn't do the assigned reading, he was Flight Director at NASA, back in the day. After Apollo-1 caught fire on the pad, the team came in the next day, and Keane gave a speech about how they screwed up, and how they could never do that again, because other people would end up paying for it."

You could've heard a pin drop.

"I don't think it applies here."

The crowd shifted in surprise.

"We didn't screw up." He triggered another hologram, and the rigs were shrunk, and shunted off to the side. "He screwed us."

The display showed a 3d model of the slim man who had been caught killing Santiago live on Candid Camera. The whole room got a little more tense. Sharply-drawn breaths, jaws tightening, fists clenched, that sort of thing.

"Well," the billionaire amended, "him and his pals. But that's not the point." Deep breath. "I know it's tempting to blame yourself. _I_ have. But sometimes...sometimes you get up, and you do everything right, and you _still_ lose. And all you can do is try and get it right the next day. And sometimes even then -"

He stopped, thought about it, ran out of steam. "Nevermind. I'm crap at speeches."

"Obviously," someone said.

Tony's mouth twitched as he pulled up the holograms of the rigs again, and shoved Officer Smiley into his own little corner.

"Now, this system isn't good at backtracking. That's our job. I've pushed the footage we have to your devices." A ghost of his old smile. "We're about to get all _Seconds from Disaster_ on this."

**-/-**

The Director looked up. "Come in!"

The door swung open, and the sentries let Irene pass.

"Ma'am," Irene said, wincing a bit at the bright lights. "I'm ready to return to work."

"You didn't need to come to my office to tell me you're off the rag."

Irene blushed.

"So...when I came back, my first priority was catching up. They'd been working on fixing flaws in the Herakles."

"What did they find?"

"They found they couldn't make significant improvements in armor withot affecting mobility. And the more weight, the more strength was required just to carry it. More strength means more moving parts, and more vulnerabilities."

"So, we wouldn't have a 'light' rig any more."

"Exactly. So...the team kinda went ahead and designed two more power suit platforms."

Schmidt blinked. "And by platforms, you mean...?"

"You know how you can order a car from the dealer, with optional leather seats? Think that, but with a grenade launcher."

"And this is what he got up to _without_ you?" Schmidt raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you should have your period more often."

Irene managed not to lunge for the Director's throat.

Barely.

**-X-**

**Honey Ryder - "Numb"**

If you haven't figured it out by now, Dunayevsky is a reference to Team Fortress 2's heavy. And I did not remember that "Sasha" is the name of the stock Minigun. I chose it because, like "Eamon", it's a version of "Alexander", which means "defender".


	7. 07 Don't call it a comeback

**07 Don't call it a comeback**

**-X-**

"All right, here we go," Tony said, for the fifth time.

His acting-assistant, Singh, glanced up from where he was setting up the projector. "Nervous, Stark?"

"Ha ha," said the billionaire. "Yeah, kinda."

They were in a briefing room, getting ready to introduce the new suits to the troops. Already they had had to deny rumors that the rigs would breathe fire.

Though Tony had quietly made a note about trying to incorporate that into the next version.

"What? Don't you do all those speeches?"

"Pepper - my assistant - writes those. When I show up, I mean. You heard that behind every great man, there's a great woman?"

"Yeah...?"

"That's her. I don't...it's never been about something this _important_ before. People's _lives_ hinge on this." He yawned.

"One, their lives hinge on the _suits_, not the speech. Two, you've spoken to soldiers before, dude. I saw the one you did just before you got...taken." He puffed up his chest. "_I prefer the weapon you only have to fire_ once! _That's the way Dad did it, that's the way America does it, and it's worked out pretty well so far!_"

Tony grinned. "Yeah, I went kind of off-script. Watched _Patton_ on the plane. I guess...I guess it didn't feel _real_."

"Until now." Singh caught Tony's yawn.

"Until now."

Irene had mentioned to Tony once that he liked attention (to which he had responded "duh"), which was why he spent so much time showing off. Heck, it probably explained his beard.

Then she had quoted Emily Dickinson's "Nobody", and pointedly put Kanye West's "Welcome to Heartbreak" on loop on the lab stereo. For an hour. Then "Paparazzi", which he _still_ couldn't get out of his head.

_I promise I'll be kind_... he thought, as the soldiers filed into the room. There were cheers for the returning Masumoto. Several, of course, buttonhooked for the snack table, only to groan when they saw the sign that said that refreshments were reserved for _after_ the briefing.

Irene's idea.

"My lovely assistant isn't up to speed, so we'll have to make do with Mr. Singh,." Tony said, as the soldiers sat. "Unfortunately, he does not look nearly as good in fishnets and heels, or being sawed in half."

Laughter and catcalls.

"Well, let's get to what I have up my sleeve." He hit the projector. "For my first trick, I've - _we've_ - designed two new suits. I already have an appointment pencilled in for Fletcher to yell at me."

A few of the troops leaned forward. Others chuckled.

"We also made some improvements on the Herakles. Meet the Mark 02. Better armor coverage, articulation, and less exposed weak points. We've also improved the mobility."

He switched to the second suit. "Meet the Ajax Medium blah blah blah. Alert readers may have noticed that it's better armored than the Herakles. Thing is, it's not as mobile. Think, well, a Ferrari vs a Mustang."

The last suit looked like little more than a slab of sloped plates of armor in the rough shape of a man.

"And then there's the Achilles, the Heavy. He's not much faster than your average human. But if the Herakles is the Ferrari, and the Jax is a Mustang, this is a..." He sought the words. "...M1 Abrams. All three suits have electrical couplers on their hands to run handheld equipment."

_Create a mystery. Draw them in. Mix it up_.

Thank you, Pepper.

"That 'blah blah blah' from earlier? The suits are being 'redeignated' as 'Mobility Platforms'. Platforms for _what_, you say?"

A bunch of wireframes came up, eclipsing all three suits.

The soldiers started murmuring. Tony grinned like a shark.

"Christmas just came early, boys and girls."

**-/-**

Strictly speaking, they probably weren't supposed to be using this rifle range, what with being civilians. But the _Heer_ or _Polizei_ or whoever had posted the stern-looking man at the check-in desk had just nodded when Levin had shown his ID, hadn't even asked for hers, and just waved them through without even checking the veteran's rifle bag.

"Why are we here?" Kristin asked.

"To teach you how to shoot."

"I _know_ how to shoot."

"Yes, they gave you the basics." Levin turned to face her and walked backwards. "They did not teach you how to _shoot_ shoot."

The Nordic woman blinked. "I do not understand."

"Exactly." The Israeli resumed normal walking. His spotter sighed.

"I meant, why are we _allowed_ here? This range is -" she gestured at the Very Serious men and women who were also there, making her feel very _civilian_ by comparison - "clearly not for public use."

The older man didn't answer, at first. He put down his bag on the designated spot, and laid out his apparatus. They had their own ear protection, which also, conveniently, functioned as a radio so they could communicate without removing their headgear.

"We are here, officially, because one of XCOM's cover organizations is a Private Security Company that has use of the range, due to paying a hefty fee to certain highly placed Deutschland officials." He laid down on the mat, set up the rifle's bipod, aimed it vaguely downrange. "That target over there at five hundred yards, one shot."

She missed, of course. She was using an unfamiliar weapons platform, with unzeroed sights, aiming at something far out of her hasty training's range, with no knowledge of how to correct for wind or any of the other fancy stuff _real_ snipers could probably do in their _sleep_ -

"Unofficially, this is clearly a case of a rent-a-soldier trying to get points with their..what's that American term? Squeeze." He squeezed Kris' far shoulder, just theatrically enough for her to know he was faking it, but not enough to be obvious to any viewers. "Of course, if challenged, I have your company ID too. Which doesn't exactly mean it's _not_ a date."

"Well, if it works," Kristen sniffed, "but why would I want to impress _you_?"

"Funny." Her partner removed his arm.

The Icelander grinned at him. "What did you do before this?"

"I was in Shin Bet."

"Why did they send you to XCOM?"

"Because I am one of their best snipers. Also, maybe because I am gay."

Arnadottir's shot went extremely wide. "What?"

"Officially, of course, they are not allowed to discriminate." Levin went on calmly. "But sometimes I wonder. Also, you need to learn to shoot even through distractions."

"Through distractions. Right." The Nordic woman took a deep breath as she re-sighted.

"I sometimes wonder how many of us were chosen _just_ because we are the best, and how many were chosen, in whole or in part, because of...other reasons. Maybe Pena found his CO with someone who was not his wife. Maybe Masumoto is the scion of a powerful family her boss didn't want to risk offending. The little lost boys and girls. Squeeze, don't jerk."

"This isn't real sniping!" the rookie protested. "There should be more, _ég veit ekki_, more _math_!"

"Of course it is not. We need to make you a _soldier_ before you are a spotter. And to do that, you need to learn how to shoot. Your police are not armed, correct?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now jog in place for sixty seconds, then shoot again."

After a few seconds, he said "jog faster."

And then; "_faster_."

**-/-**

"Miss Smith is here to see you," Stane's new secretary said.

The executive looked up from his computer, frowned, and took a deep breath.

"About the name," he said, as the redhead walked in. "Lerna International? As in the Lernean Hydra? Kind of obvious, don't you think?"

"Some things are best hidden in plain sight." A smile spread across her face. The kind of greasy smile that made it hard for Stane to tell whether she was actually glad to see him as a person, or just as her next victim.

He controlled his shudder, turned it into him straightening up and adjusting his tie.

Smith walked past him, to stare out his window at the Stark campus. The executive was forced to turn his chair awkwardly to keep her in view. "And I would say your suits are a little 80s, don't you think?" Before Stane could retort: "How goest the ironmongering?"

She knew, of course. She probably knew his underwear size.

"Pretty well," Stane said. "Stocks are going up. I've had some of My Guys go over those blueprints you sent over. It's kind of hard to get anything done with SHIELD looking over my shoulder."

"Well, I am sure you will be resourceful." The woman said, still facing the window. "After all, we already made the evidence connecting you and the Ten Rings vanish."

"What?" His brows furrowed with suspicion. "That was you?"

"Yes. Why do you think a bunch of g-men haven't come breaking down your door?" She put a hand on Stane's shoulder, making his skin crawl. "Remember, Obie, we have just as much interest in maintaining this...working arrangement as you do."

The hand slid across his shoulders, in a parody of Stane's own favorite gesture. "After all, we wouldn't want SHIELD to learn that you tried to kill your boss. If they found us, we'd _have_ to tell them. Out of practicality, I mean."

The woman from HYDRA smiled, and tightened her grip on his shoulder. He could feel her red-painted nails digging into his flesh, even through his shirt. It occurred to the American, as he tried not to lean away, that he had never been so repulsed by the touch of a beautiful redhead before.

"And I don't think," she hissed in his ear, "that _either_ of us want that to happen."

**-/-**

"Ma'am," Bradford said stiffly, "I'd like to register my protests."

Schmidt eyed her second in command, as she stopped moving forward and began to jog in place. He hadn't brought a cart like Vahlen had.

"Good morning, Bradford."

He flushed. "Er, good morning, Director Schmidt."

"Are you registering in your official, or personal capacity?"

"Both."

"So you're back on the job?"

"No. Not yet."

"Oh. Well, let me explain my reasoning to you."

"I don't -"

"That _wasn't_ a request."

"Oh."

"First off, it helps to muddy the waters. It becomes harder for any civilians to track our activities by our unique weapons off our weapons are everywhere. They're already starting to suspect our existence."

"And?"

"It also helps various nations - and approved PMCs - protect themselves and the public better. And, finally, _we need the money_." She let her weariness show for the first time in their conversation. "Fielding the best combat hardware on the planet isn't cheap, and there's only so much I can talk out of the Council. Not only will we sell them the weapons themselves, but we also get lucrative maintenance contracts."

"Spoken like a government contractor, ma'am."

Schmidt winced theatrically. "_Ouch_, Bradford."

"How will they know how to use them?"

"If folks can read IKEA instructions, they can read ours."

"I still don't like it. We should be teaching them to use the weapons they have more efficiently."

"We can't spare the personnel," Schmidt said brusquely. "But I will take both your protests and suggestions under advisement."

"Ah." Bradford's shoulders sagged. Schmidt reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

"This isn't personal, David. Part of your job as my XO is to try and stop me if you see me making a dumb decision. And remember, we're not giving them any of our heavy weapons."

Bradford frowned. "Noted."

"Look, if you really want to be more involved, you can start coming to see me in the morning." She grimaced. "Help me with the paperwork. Bring your own coffee."

"I think...I think I'd like that. Thank you, Director." Bradford started to turn away, then paused. "If I did...leave, who would you get to replace me?"

"I don't think I could."

"That's flattering, Director, but I'd like to know." He raised his cup to his lips.

Schmidt waited until he had taken a sip. "Tony Stark."

Bradford snorted coffee through his nose.

**-/-**

"Tony," said Irene, "have you considered giving the suits their own Arc Reactors? Because if power were less of a factor, they could -"

"I _did_ consider it. For about five seconds, before they killed Phantom and stripped the bodies. The Reactor is...kind of a big deal." He tapped his chest. "If they get their hands on it, who knows what they'll do? And the suits are plenty strong on batteries."

His assistant stared at him. "You've seen your weapons turned on the good guys before, haven't you?"

"Yeah, just before the Ten Rings got me." He frowned. "Wasn't much fun the first time. I don't need another Lord Voldemort situation. For one thing, I hate snakes."

Eamon stared at his boss. There was a lot he could say: about the needs of the many, about how selfish Tony was being.

But by now he recognized the set of the older man's jaw.

He was going to have to come at this from a different angle.

**-/-**

Jamal Washington woke up, and found himself staring into the dead eyes of Pulaski.

He yelped and scrambled back. A hand grasped his shoulder, and he looked up into the bearded face of his squad leader Sgt. "Viking" Nilsson.

"Easy, rookie", he growled. "He's not going to bite."

Washington stared at him, mouth open, then looked back at the corpse. Its neck was lolling at an odd angle, eyes staring at nothing.

He was already starting to think of Pulaski as "it".

"Whiplash?"

The Swede shrugged. "Probably. I don't know, I'm not a doctor. Kind of the opposite, really."

Washington looked around. It seemed like Pulaski had been thrown across the Skyranger. The safety harness, never made for a power suit, much less an Achilles. had snapped, sending him flying across the dropship. And when his head hit the bulkhead -

Something threatened to surge out of the American's throat. He choked it down, and thanked God that everyone else had been wearing Medium or Light suits.

So, someone had taken the dead man, and propped him up. Someone had unbuckled Washington. And someone had stripped the Pole of his gear.

"Pilots are dead too," Viking said. "Congratulations, you're the new support gunner." He shoved a SAW into the rookie's hands.

"But...I'm a medic."

Nilsson paused in the doorway. "And now you are _also_ a support gunner," he said, in tones one might use to explain something to a child. He vanished, and Washington scrambled after him.

He emerged onto the helipad with a wince at the late-afternoon sunlight. This part of Marseille was relatively quiet, the 'Ranger's crash landing notwithstanding.

"Did anyone see what hit us?" he asked the rest of Hotel Squad.

"No, but the flares didn't work," said Levin, the squad's sniper, in the Herakles.

Macinally, the marksman, who was favoring his left leg, looked at the skidmark the dropship had left across the pad. "Well, obviously."

Levin's spotter, also in the Herakles, chuckled. Arnold or something.

"Masks down. We'll take the service stairwell to the ground. After all, we wouldn't want to panic the civilians."

Everyone looked at the dropship, then back at the Swede, who was very clearly not smiling. Albeit with difficulty.

The second the mask dropped into place, Washington felt himself calm down. What was it about having metal between him and reality that let him shut it out?

He looked at the team, which was already moving toward the hotel's stairs.

"So let me get this straight," the American said. "We lost our transport, we lost the pilots, we lost our support gunner, a medic is filling in for him, our marksman has comprised mobility, and we have no drone oversight, or communication with HQ."

"You forgot the part where we have no idea where the objective is," Viking pointed out.

"Oh, that's easy." The younger man pointed towards the smoke rising from a location a few blocks away. "Where there's smoke, there's plasma fire."

**-/-**

"_There_," Jocasta said. "I just got a telemetry ping off the _Hotel Qualité_'s WiFi."

"Are they all right?" Irene asked.

"Four of them. One injury; Mac. One missing; Pulaski."

"Can you contact them?" one of the techs asked.

"It's one-way only. And I'm not getting any signal from the relay in the Skyranger. Local mobiles are jammed. Local phones are down. Cable and Cable Internet are up. And our little Peeping Tom is back."

"Can you lock him out?" Tony asked.

"No, I - wait."

"Wait, what?"

"He just...let me in to the security camera feeds."

"He _what_?"

"I think...I think he _wants_ us to watch."

**-/-**

The streets in that section of Marseille would probably be very appealing to the tourists, were they not cowering in fear right now. You could still smell the last of the sea breeze, even under the smoke.

The civvies shrank away from the soldiers passing through.

"There's our objective," the Swede said. "Shiny, Spots, set up on that bus. Wash, forward overwatch."

Three "Roger"s.

**-/-**

"Schmidt must be freaking out," Singh commented.

"Not 'freaking out', exactly, just...concerned," Jo informed him.

"Are you sure there's no way to get a signal to them?"

"Yes. I've considered every possibility I could think of, plus there's those two geniuses over there -"

"What about breaking into the cable signal?"

The heads of his bosses turned like turrets.

**-/-**

"Arnadottir, make some noise," Levin ordered.

"On it," replied his spotter. She sent out a Ping, and after a second or two got a bunch of human-sized contacts in the distance, and one large one directly in front of her.

She turned off the overlay. Nothing but thin air. Overlay on; big contact.

"I think there's a glitch; I've got a contact on sonic that's not there on optical."

"Think your Pinger was damaged by the crash?"

Washington frowned. "Levin, don't you have thermal in one of your module slots?"

"Indeed I do."

Not only was the contact still there on thermal, but it had gotten closer to the Icelander.

"Kris," Levin said, as he reached for his sidearm as discreetly as possible, "_don't mo-_"

The x-ray shimmered into the visible spectrum.

It looked a lot like one of those squid robots from _The Matrix_, except smaller, covered in metallic, triangular plates that reminded the Israeli of stealth aircraft, and being a few feet away from his partner with limbs outspread and a glowing green weapon about to discharge -

The Icelander raised her Mutt, and fired. Again and again. At some point, she realized she was screaming. It was at about the juncture when a half-dozen laser shotgun blasts had reduced the squid to smoking ruin on the top of the bus, and her weapon was going _click-click_ on a dead battery.

She looked up at Shiny, breathing heavily, her teeth gritted, fire in her eyes.

He was struck by how much she looked like some kind of Valkyrie, or some kind of vengeful spirit of war. Beautiful.

Aesthetically speaking.

"Good reflexes," Levin noted.

"_Takk_."

And that's when the robot's plasma weapon exploded.

**-/-**

"Arnadottir's heart rate spiked, she fired her weapon until empty, then her heart rate started to come down, then the armor received damage to the upper body, facial area, and upper arms," Jo reported.

Tony swore. "Somebody get us that cable signal!"

**-/-**

"Contacts!" Mac cried. "I think it's more of those gents who took out Phantom!"

Mattias Nilsson took his cold spike of fear at the marksman's words and buried it down someplace deep, where he could ignore it.

He'd had lots of practice.

"I can't do anything about your eyes," he said, stowing his medkit.

"That's...that's okay," said Spots. She blinked at the light, then rotated her right shoulder experimentally. "Ouch."

"Easy," said Levin.

"I am fine. I just...need moment to rest."

"As your CO. I am ordering you to stay still."

The woman subsided. "Yes, sir."

"How about those contacts, Mac?" the Swede called.

"They're ducking into the buildings. Still haven't come out. Think they're waiting for us to make a run across the square?"

"It's what I'd do." Nilsson reconsidered. "Well, if I were out of high explosives, anyway."

"I can see a survivor in the cab of one truck."

"Maybe he can tell us something." The squad leader considered the situation. "Okay. First, we are going to get into _that_ church."

"And then what?"

"Have a smoke."

**-/-**

"Got the cable splice ready," Stark reported.

"That's nice, except they're out of range of local wifi. I have no idea where they are."

**-/-**

Smoke grenades went flying through the windows of the church, ruining a few centuries-old pieces of stained-glass. Which was a shame, Washington thought.

The devices landed, and detonated, covering the area around their HVT with thick smoke. The XCOM forces promptly leapt through the windows themselves, into a mass of vague and confused plasma fire.

"Better than the Jaws of Life," Sergeant Nilsson was heard to say.

A few seconds later, they pulled the man out of the wreckage. Their first clue that something was wrong was his outfit; he wore a pinstriped three-piece with no coat, and a gunbelt hastily strapped on over it.

The Swede, who had worn a similar ensemble himself, privately disapproved, on the grounds that the belt clashed with his shoes.

The second clue was that the subject, in response to stims, opened his eyes, took one look at them, and declared that he wasn't telling XCOM anything.

"Yep," Washington said, "HYDRA."

**-/-**

A few seconds later, Hotel-7 went to cover in the street with their trussed prisoner. Unfortunately, none of them had bought gags, and they didn't wear socks under their bodysuits.

In the end, they had ripped off the HVT's sleeve, and tied it around his face.

"The X-Rays seem to be really interested in you," Nilsson noted, squirming a bit farther behind the plinith. "Any idea why?"

"Mmph!"

"Just five Euros? They wouldn't go through this much trouble for that."

Levin fired at a second-story window. "Infiltrator down."

Washington blinked. "Wait. Where are they shooting at us from? What are their locations?"

Nilsson pointed, without exposing himself.

"They haven't got our rear covered," said Washington, who was the one covering said flank.

"Maybe they're trying to push us back to the church -"

A large, apelike creature in dull-green armor burst through a nearby store window, seized Washington by the neck, and carried him out of sight.

**-/-**

When the rookie was finally released by the alien, it was only as he was being flung through the air, to smash into a wall.

_Ouch_, Washington thought.

He staggered to his feet. He had lost his weapon at some point, the big guy was charging toward him, he didn't look like he wanted to hand him a Watchtower pamphlet, and he had the sneaking suspicion that his sidearm would do little more than tickle.

The rookie yelled "Suit, all power to strength!"

He caught the alien's arms, each the size of his torso, as they tried to smash him into a pancake, and was immediately driven onto one knee.

He could feel the strain, even through the rig, so he gritted his teeth, and pushed _back -_

Then everything went white, and he hit the wall hard, _again_, getting the wind knocked out of him. When he hit the ground, he looked up at the big guy, and realized that the he had _kicked_ him -

- And he wasn't going to get up in time.

**-/-**

"What about Washington?" Levin yelled.

"We've got our own problems!" Nilsson snarled. "Covering fire!"

Levin sprinted for the shop window, and leaped through, scattering the charming little knick-knacks. "Clear!"

"Iceland, you're up! Go!"

The woman nodded, and followed her partner. She tripped going through the window.

"Sorry."

"Not your fault."

Spots laid down on her back, and pinged the x-rays' position above him, giving both Levin and Mac firing solutions.

"Thanks," said the Israeli.

Then he fired his Orion.

Straight up through two floors.

**-/-**

Elsewhere, a perfectly innocuous-looking tractor-trailer exploded.

**-/-**

"Jammer down!" Jo declared.

It took a few seconds for Irene to realize that the large, menacing shape that was strolling toward Washington, with the confident gait of a predator approaching cornered and helpless prey, was a Muton -

"Jo!" Eamon heard his mouth say, entirely of its own volition, "Fire Washington's chest repulsor, maximum power, _right now_!"

"What?" Jo said, confused. "Oh, yes, I see, but you aren't authorized to -"

"A man's _life_ is at stake, and you're arguing with me about _protocol_?"

"We don't even know if his suit can take that stress, and -"

"_As ucht Dé_, Jocasta," Irene yelled, "_do it_!"

There was a second of silence before the AI went "Okay. All right."

**-/-**

The aperture on Washington's chest irised open and began to glow.

Then his suit's arms, entirely without input from him, pushed him to a position where the glowing was pointed at the big, green alien.

It stopped, and growled suspiciously at the light.

Then it took a high-power repulsor blast to the face.

**-/-**

"What," said one of the Operations staff, "the _h_ -"

**-/-**

It _still_ wasn't down. Down on one knee, sure, but it only seemed blinded and stunned, not seriously hurt.

"Base," coughed Washington, "Central, whoever that was, he's still kicking. Got another one of those?"

"You don't have enough power," a British woman informed him. No, wait, that was the XCOM AI. Jolene or something. "Can you escape?"

He tried, he really did, but his left leg wouldn't take any weight.

"There's critical damage to your leg, and the suit. I...I don't think you can get away in time."

The alien got up, a bit unsteadily.

"Oh." He took a moment to digest that. The only response he could think of was "This has _not_ been my best first day on the job."

"Well, look on the bright side."

The creature shook it's head, focused on the soldier, and prepared to charge.

"What bright side?"

"Maybe tomorrow will be better."

And that's when the cavalry arrived.

**-/-**

Nilsson introduced himself to the new x-ray with a burst of laser fire as he charged. It didn't hit much, didn't do much damage, but that was okay; he just needed to get his attention.

The big guy's response was to turn to face the rest of Hotel, and _roar_, emitting a wave of rage that caused Levin to falter, and Mac, farther back to flinch. The Swede grit his teeth and powered through it, tossing his rifle to the side.

Ugly was waiting, though, and met him with a swipe of a massive fist, one which hit nothing but empty air.

The squad leader slid to a stop between the alien's legs, his Sonic Stunner out and ready. To his eternal shame, the only one-liner he could think of before he pulled the trigger was "hey, listen -"

The creature screamed, and covered its ears. But when the ultrasonic pulse died down, it was still standing. And now it was _very_ pissed off at one bearded soldier in particular.

Viking pulled the trigger again. The screen flickered, then went dark. His eyes widened. "Oh -"

**-/-**

Jo said "firing chest thr -"

**-/-**

Nilsson put his hands - and the couplers on them - to the alien's crotch, yelled "_Suit, shock him!_", and hoped he wasn't about to be squished.

**-/-**

There was a stunned silence, as the alien on the screen screamed in pain, and, finally, collapsed.

"Well," said Singh. "_That_ happened."

**-/-**

Mac reached down and hauled the rookie to his feet.

"Thanks," said the American. He looked at the dead...thing, ignoring how Nilsson was trying to get Shiny to take a picture, c'mon, do it.

"Big, isn't he?" murmured the marksman.

"_I'll_ say." Washington took a deep breath. "Talk about direct current."

The Scot looked sharply at him. Presently, he said "talk about getting _Thunderstruck_."

"Talk about _Shooting to Thrill_." Something was pulling his face into a smile.

"Talk about a _Big Gun_."

"Talk about a _Highway to Hell_."

"Talk about a -"

**-/-**

At some point in the deluge of AC/DC puns, Irene had buried her face in her hands. Several members of the Development team were rolling their eyes. Tony, of course, had a great big smile on his face.

"I _like_ this kid!" he declared.

**-/-**

"Jo," said Nilsson, "tell Malibu I want my money back."

"So now what?" said the rookie, as Arnadottir arrived with the prisoner.

"We find someplace to hunker down and wait for evac."

"What about the big guy?"

"Do _you_ want to carry him?"

The loudspeaker crackled. "Starkos to the Director's office."

Tony looked at his assistant. "You're in _troooouble_."

She gave him a rueful half-smile. "_It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done_." A deep breath. "See you later."

"As for you, Tony," Jo continued, "your team needs to figure out how to transport this 'Muton' safely back to base, and you have to do it before he wakes up, using whatever's on the ground."

"So, you're giving us the Apollo 13 problem? I wish we knew more about it. Can you have someone wake it up just long enough for me to -"

"_No_, Stark."

**-/-**

The Director used the old principal's trick of arranging papers on her desk before speaking to Irene, to build tension, to establish dominance. Then she clapped her hands on the desk and gave the engineer a bright, stomach-churning smile.

"I'd like to talk to you about that order you gave Jocasta."

Oh boy.

"I understand that it was a high-stress situation, and you probably didn't fully consider your actions."

Oh, good, it was going to be one of those.

"You're an intelligent woman -" and here a bit of steel edged into her voice "- so can _you_ tell me what was wrong with what you did?"

Oh no, it was going to be one of _those_. The type where you not only got the rope to hang yourself, but had to tie the knot and pull the lever too.

"Well..." It would be unprofessional to squirm. "I violated the chain of command. I...I suggested an unproven method of defense."

"I won't ask if you had that idea earlier and just forgot to mention it, or if it came to you out of the blue. Also, this chest-beam trick used a dangerous amount of power. Power Private Washington might've needed if there had been other enemy combatants in the area."

"I...I see."

Schmidt studied her subordinate.

"You missed one very critical point."

"Ah?" Don't flinch.

"You didn't issue a request. You gave an order, like you expected it to be obeyed." Beat. "Is this going to be a problem, going forward?"

Would being fired count as a mission failure? "N - no, ma'am."

"Good. Don't let me keep you. I'm sure I won't have to speak to you again."

**-/-**

Vahlen's phone beeped at her.

Then it beeped again, more insistently. This time she paid attention, and turned away from the containment cell - and the reinforcements that were being made - to take the call. It was Marceau, who was generally in charge of Recovery. She couldn't help but notice the Bistro behind him - she'd skipped lunch again, hadn't she.

"_Bonsoir_, Doctor!" said Marceau, panning the camera to take in the square he was standing in.

Her subordinate's good cheer was infectious. "Hello, Marceau. As long as you're there, can you bring me back a cheeseburger?"

The man placed a hand over his chest in mock distress. "_Madamoiselle_, you wound me! This is _France_!"

"Then bring me something deep-fried. Maybe wrapped in bacon."

"If you continue, I will be forced to give every chef in France your address, to repay the grievous insult."

Vahlen made a show of looking around her Research lab, buried deep beneath Germany, hidden behind several layers of security protocols. "Somehow, I am not worried. In the meantime, what did you call me for?"

Marceau immediately sobered up. "Doctor, we found a machine that we think belongs to HYDRA. We thought you might want to take a look at it."

Her interest piqued, the German went "show me. Jo, if you would -"

The image on her phone moved to the lab display.

"_Danke_." Vahlen watched as the Belgian moved toward the artifact. Someone had placed a banana-yellow ruler next to it, for scale, and at first the scientist couldn't identify the object. Then Marceau moved to a different angle, and Vahlen realized that once one accounted for it being torn in half by gunfire -

"Is that...a _robot_?"

**-X-**

**LL Cool J - "Mama Said Knock You Out"**

I suppose a lesser writer would make a joke here about Masumoto and the seeker. Unfortunately for anyone expecting such a joke, I am not 12.

The idea of power couplers in the hands is from Havoc-Legionaire's Halo fics "The Art of War" (deleted), and "Finishing the Fight" (ongoing).

The Achilles was originally the Enkidu, which, while fitting with the mythological strongman/hero theme, didn't fit the Greco-Roman naming scheme. I didn't commit to correcting it until I wrote Tony's presentation out in full.

Shiny and Spots relationship is kinda based on the mentorship setups of Wolverine and Kitty Pryde/Jubilee/Armor. At least, that was the idea. In practice, however, I somehow ended up writing something closer to Oded Fehr's first appearance on _Covert Affairs_, and the chemistry he had with Annie, at least filtered through my memory. It wasn't even on _purpose_.

I like Marceau. So he's probably going to die. _Game of Thrones_ fans may be familiar with this phenomenon.

One last tidbit. I was worried about sustainability, so I made a graph of the number of enemies in XCOM, plus my ideas for new or modified units, and compared it to the projected length of this fic.

_[Distant, maniacal laughter is heard.]_


End file.
